


The Perfect Knight

by SingingSpringingLark



Series: Legends of Chivalry [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Broken Promises, Character Growth, Child Bully, Chivalric Tales, Death and Regret, Disability Discrimination, Duty and Choice, Enduring love, Epic Misunderstanding, Existential Crisis, Friendship/Love, Heroic Sacrifice, Heroism, Hope and Fear, Impossible Standards, In Media Res, Learning From Your Mistakes, Loyalty and Betrayal, M/M, Missed Opportunities, Past and Present, Platonic Relationships, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Quest for Revenge, Reconciliation, Rejection, Second Chances, Secret Relationship, Self-Destruction, Self-Reflection, Self-loathing and Powerlessness, Unreliable Narrator, Wrong Genre Savvy, death and despair, foregone conclusion, implied xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 50,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingSpringingLark/pseuds/SingingSpringingLark
Summary: “We’re both chasing ghosts, are we not?” said the delusional prince with a snide smile. “Your prince died in Duscur, and my beloved Felix never returned from the Battle of Avalon Hill.”Felix shook at the sound of those words and he whirled around, kicking over the nearest church bench in rage. As he ran out of the cathedral, he heard the Boar laugh softly and cruelly twist the knife he’d plunged into the heart of the friend he once claimed to adore and love.Once back in his room in the dormitory, Felix lifted his sword and gazed at his own reflection in the blade.That bruised warrior was not the Prince’s beloved friend. The Prince’s beloved friend was as stern as he was kind—a light in the darkest of nights. He was the Prince’s protector and friend, his lifelong companion and the love of his life. The young swordsman before him was as cowardly as he was cruel—another dark cloud that blotted out the sun.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Dedue Molinaro, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Leonie Pinelli, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Kyphon & Loog (Fire Emblem), Kyphon & Pan (Fire Emblem), Loog/Pan (Fire Emblem)
Series: Legends of Chivalry [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518593
Comments: 42
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part three of a six part series, but the stories can be read as standalone. This series is technically Blue Lions route, but is has Golden Deer/Church route elements and there are also changes to the canon events. Also, if something doesn't have a name in canon, expect me to give it a name.
> 
> This story is a direct continuation of part two: [_The Craven Knight_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446908) and also vaguely references to part one: [_Highborn Brothers_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052964). You don't _need_ to read the other parts to understand what's going on (assuming game knowledge), but it helps if you've read _Craven Knight_ chapters 6, 7 and 9, which covers the events of the Western Rebellion and the Officers Academy.
> 
> This story was also planned/written before Cindered Shadows, which is why a character that is unrelated to Balthus is named Albrecht in it. There is also a lot of jumping between storylines in this one.

**D** imitri remembered an old oil painting that used to hang on the wall in his father’s study: a lovely scene depicting lush greenery and plains and two beautiful riders crossing the fields on their handsome steeds. The men rode together, side by side; one wore all azure clothing and was crowned with a golden band, and the other dressed in white and green and carried a shield, which was emblazoned with the Crest of Fraldarius and a white swan wearing a coronet around its neck.

“It’s Loog!” had eight year old Dimitri said, pointing at the rider with the crown. “And there’s Kyphon!” he said, pointing at the other rider with the shield displaying House Fraldarius’s coat of arms.

“That’s not Kyphon, you dummy!” said Felix, narrowing his eyes at Dimitri with the most judging expression a child could have.

“But he’s wearing _your family’s_ colours,” argued Dimitri. “And _look_ , Felix; his shield looks _just_ like Glenn’s and yours!”

“But he has the wrong hair- and eye-colour!” said Felix. “And where’s his Singing Sword and Aegis Shield?”

Dimitri looked at the painting again. Yes, Kyphon looked very different from his traditional depiction; instead of a big muscular warrior with long raven waves of hair, this Kyphon was small and slender and his short hair was a dirt-brown shade, and instead of green emeralds his eyes were red flames. Kyphon looked so kind and gentle gazing at his friend, and Loog returned him a heartfelt smile. And despite his very unremarkable look, Dimitri found himself drawn to this softer, gentler Kyphon, but he never relayed this to Felix, who was offended by the slightest implication that his ancestor was anything but heroic and strong.

When Dimitri later told his father about the inaccuracies of the painting, King Lambert laughed and complimented his young son’s knowledge and then had the picture removed from display. Three years later, when the unwilling separation from his dearest friend left Dimitri inconsolable, the father would show him the old painting again. And he would tell Dimitri that the rider next to Loog was not Kyphon but _Pan_ —the friend who loved so fiercely and so selflessly that he nearly vanished from the pages of history…


	2. Chapter 2

_The skies were clear, the fields were green_

_Two young warriors, valiant and strong_

_Journeyed together far from home_

_Loog and Kyphon, lifelong friends_

_One followed the other, never alone_

*** * ***

**L** oog was born as the third child of Count Blaiddyd, destined to remain in the shadows of his elder brother and sister. From the day he was born, Loog’s Crest and marriage had been peddled to the Imperial family. The day he learnt to walk on his own two feet, a spear was put into his hand—he was told he had to become strong and be a valuable asset to the emperor and the realm.

A diligent child he was, Loog von Blaiddyd, and he studied and trained like a proper noble of the north. He garnered much attention with the skill of his spear and his early mastery of his Crest, winning every fighting tournament he participated in ever since the age of eight! And it was in one of these competitions he’d meet his lifelong friend Pan.

Pan was the youngest son of a court mage and poet—a Crestless nobody, in other words. He was nine years old when he met the count’s son during the midsummer fair. They faced off against each other in the first round of the fighting tournament, and Pan was clearly outmatched judging by his slight frame alone. Yet, he fought on fiercely with his sword and shield, not yielding until Loog had broken his weapon and pushed his face into the dirt. Afterwards, Loog had extended his hand towards the beaten boy in admiration. The seeds of their friendship were sown when Pan took it; that strong hand that enveloped his shaking fingers was warm and soft despite the destruction it could wreak. And they become lifelong friends when Loog invited Pan to join him in his training in Castle Fhirdiad.

As Loog strived to become the most brilliant knight to ever grace the emperor’s court, Pan would tell his friend about his dreams of grand adventures—wishes he’d always kept for himself in fear of his brothers’ ridicule and scorn. For what could a meek boy like him ever accomplish on his own? And Loog would listen, captivated by the promise of freedom and the thrill of adventure, daring to hope for a day they could leave their homes behind and seek their fortunes together.

On the summer Loog counted his sixteenth birthday and came of age, he packed his belongings and his partisan, riding out to the castle town where Pan and his family resided.

“Come with me, Pan! Let us seek our fortunes in the world together!” said Loog to his friend, brave and bold. “You are my most trusted and loyal friend,” he said, offering Pan his hand once more. “It would be an honour to have you join me on this quest!”

Pan had looked at him with a baffled expression and apprehensive eyes. And Loog, seeing that his friend was intimidated by his words, lowered his voice and gently placed comforting hands on Pan’s upper arms.

“You’re my dearest, most precious friend,” he whispered, giving Pan his truest smile. “It would bring me great joy to have you at my side.”

And so, Pan tearfully embraced his beloved friend. He saddled his steed and bid his family farewell at dawn, receiving his father and mother’s blessings in the form of a feathered cape.

They rode westward together—across the Tailtean Plains and through the woods, until arriving at Faolain River which bordered neighbouring counties Gideon and Mateus.

“Are you certain?” had Pan cautiously asked at the stream. For he knew Loog had been promised the hand of a princess and an Imperial knighthood—would he truly give that up to journey the world with him?

“I’ve never been surer in my life,” said Loog with a delightful smile.

And together they crossed Lone Wolf Bridge, leaving their homes in search for their place in the world.

Fate would lead them to many places of interest all across Fódlan, and their friendship would grow along the way. Many a heart-racing adventure would they share, and countless trials they would endure. Their bond would deepen through the years, as they relied on each other and shared both laughs and tears. They would solve the problems of the common man and cross blades with every other crooked lord or evil magistrate. They would fight evil wizards and mighty beasts, and rescue maidens fair, finding friends in both high places and low. And they would witness the endless suffering of the northern lands and realize that some problems could not be solved by two adventurers alone…

*** * ***

_Sword and Shield!_

_At Lone Wolf Bridge!_

_So it was decided_

_So the deal was struck_

_One followed the other_

_Never alone_

*** * ***

Emperor Theodoric von Hresvelg was a man of ambition and pride. Ever since warding off the invasion from Dagda, he’d dreamt of expanding the Adrestian Empire beyond the continent of Fódlan. Seven years after the Mach War, he invaded the Brigid Isles and relegated the island nation to a client state. And emboldened by his success, the emperor set his eyes on farer horizons…

In the spring 731—barely three years after the subjugation of Brigid, Theodoric von Hresvelg launched his next military campaign, levying soldiers from all corners of the Empire for an overseas invasion of Dagda.

With a massive army at his command and Brigid providing additional ships, the Adrestian Emperor landed and occupied the nearest coastal towns. His council urged him to negotiate peace while he still had the upper hand, but Theodoric von Hresvelg accepted nothing but the complete surrender of his enemies. Although his hardy warriors fought valiantly in his name, the war dragged on. His soldiers began losing their fighting spirit as provisions ran low and pirates intercepted the shipments from Brigid. Following a reckless assault on a major city—which cost Emperor Theodoric his life, he was succeeded by his son Dietfried von Hresvelg, who immediately sued for peace and returned to Fódlan, blaming the failed invasion on his father’s marshals.

The war sent reverberations across all of Fódlan but instead of stabilizing his realm, the new emperor indulged in his own pleasures, hosting grandiose tournaments and games in the arena and playing with his foreign concubines.

While life in southern Fódlan carried on despite Emperor Dietfried’s wanton carousing, the people of the north were faced with a crisis of poor harvest, in addition to having lost many capable men and women who could work the fields in the war. Peasants and commoners could barely make ends meet and tax collectors failed meeting quotas; requests for exemptions were met with the emperor’s derision and scorn, and the bitterness and malcontent in the Faerghus region grew.

Following the crops failing in the year 745, a group of Faerghus magistrates famously opened the Imperial granaries in winter without permission to feed the starving population. The young Count Aodhán von Blaiddyd turned himself over to Emperor Dietfried and shouldered the blame alone. His execution caused a divide between the emperor and his northern vassals, which resulted in the exile of many Faerghus nobles from the Imperial Court.

*** * ***

Loog—the Lion of the North, famous adventurer and sometimes a hero, saw his people’s suffering first hand on his travels. Following his brother’s execution, he finally returned to the lands of his birth after sixteen years. The years of wandering had moulded him into a righteous man of kindness and compassion. It was said that Loog cried like a heartbroken child when he heard his father and older sister died in the senseless war. It was said regret shook Loog’s body and despair gripped his soul when news of his older brother’s execution reached his ears. Luckily, he was never alone; he wept in the arms of Pan, who faithfully weathered the sorrow together with his beloved friend.

Although Loog left his home and family early, he still wore the azure colour of his noble house with pride. Blue was his tunic and blue were his breeches and socks; blue was the fur-lined mantle that kept his shoulders warm. His mail tunic was well maintained despite the years, and his tall helmet was adorned with bright plumes. Loog still favoured the spear, balancing his trusty partisan on his shoulder with a confidant smile, which was framed with his full beard. His eyes, blue and beautiful, were like cornflowers in a field of wheat; his blond hair had grown into a long mane, which he wore mostly loose, save for the front which Pan braided back behind his head every morn.

Pan’s moniker never caught on with the people and was lost in history, but he followed Loog like a shadow and many mistook him for being a squire: Youthful and short in stature, the Lion of the North towered over him like a giant. Pan hadn’t grown an inch in height throughout the years and he couldn’t grow a beard to save his life. His dirt-brown hair was kept short to not get tangled in the aventail of his spectacle helmet, which concealed his face, and he wore a mix of cheap colours under his habergeon—mostly favouring red and green. From his shoulders hung a mantle of wild bird feathers and on his back was an old heater shield strapped. A sword hung from his belt in its wooden scabbard—it was a twin of a pair: Loog owned the other blade.

It was early autumn when the two friends crossed Faolain River again; yellow leaves falling into the stream as they rode across Lone Wolf Bridge.

The sun shone brightly when Loog placed blooms at the foot of the menhir erected in his father and siblings’ memory. The wind stood still when he brandished the relic glaive Areadbhar with the power of his Crest and clove a boulder in two, proving his linage for all to see.

“I will speak with the Emperor,” said Loog after accepted his responsibilities as the new head of House Blaiddyd. “I will journey to Enbarr and be the envoy of our people,” he promised, determined to restore his family’s good name.

And so they journeyed southward, Loog and Pan, collecting letters from both nobles and commoners on their way. So, they journeyed to the capital of Embarr—lush in history and wealth—a stark contrast to the hardy northland cities.

They were mere teenagers when they visited the capital for the first time; they were dazzled by the splendid architecture and the aqueducts and the warmth of the sun, trying to enjoy as many of the attractions the city had to offer. Now however, Loog only hoped that his visit wouldn’t as troublesome as his last trip. The city had seen quite some change—it had grown in size and many new buildings had been erected around the forum. But one thing was constant: the difficultly to navigate southern politics and laws—so much bureaucracy and so many obstacles! Last time they visited, Loog was arrested after a snotty-faced noble challenged him to a duel and couldn’t take a beating. Pan ended up cutting a deal with the offended House Vestra for Loog’s freedom, risking his life to “steal back” an heirloom necklace for the eldest princess, who’d foolishly gambled it away to the Brigid ambassador in a bet.

Loog tried to avoid trouble and headed straight to the officials at the Imperial Palace, asking for an audience with Emperor Dietfried. He was promptly informed that the emperor wasn’t seeing any “pesky noble from the north” and ordered to leave. But fortunately—or unfortunately, the Marquis of Vestra decided to frame Pan for “dishonouring” his daughter and had them brought to his villa for interrogation.

“Cut to the chase, Albrecht von Vestra,” said Loog, for he didn’t play inane mind games. “What do you want us to steal this time?”

“I’m delighted that you remember our last encounter,” said Lord Albrecht. “However, I’m afraid my request isn’t something silly this time around.”

Loog nodded silently as he listened—age apparently brought wisdom even to the most arrogant of bluebloods—but he would never consider Pan risking his life something _silly_.

“The Emperor has thrown a gladiatorial tournament in the arena,” said the marquis.

“ _Again_?” drawled Loog, rolling his eyes.

Lord Albrecht cleared his throat and his expression darkened into a scowl as he continued to explain his demand:

“House Berliegz’s champion is a threat that needs to be eliminated. I will enter you as House Vestra’s champions and you will defeat and humiliate Kyphon to the point he has no choice but to leave the city.”

Loog looked to Pan with a golden eyebrow raised.

“That sounds like a job any competent mercenary can take,” said Loog. “Who is this Kyphon?”

“A swine with no business courting an Imperial princess,” replied Lord Albrecht. “You’re one of the best fighters in Fódlan, Lion of the North. Make short work of this fool and you’ll have your audience with the Emperor.”

Loog drew his sword and pointed it at the marquis, causing Lord Albrecht’s guards to immediately rush to his defence.

“Swear it,” said Loog.

“You northerners aren’t making it easy for me,” said the marquis, shaking his head with a sigh. He drew his own sword and crossed Loog’s blade.

“In the name of my noble house and my ancestors, _I swear it_ ,” he said. “Should you succeed getting this snake out of the picture, I will arrange a meeting between you and the Emperor.”

And so they settled in House Vestra’s villa in the capital. Even though Lord Albrecht’s men told them Kyphon was simply a crafty commoner trying to become royalty, Pan thoroughly researched his background in preparation for the fight.

It was said that Kyphon arrived in the capital three months ago—he came by boat from the Brigid Isles, and had been making a name of himself in the arena, winning fight after fight until he’d become a favourite among the crowd: He was handsome and strong; his charming smile and fighting prowess had won him the affections of Emperor Dietfried’s youngest daughter. He was also an eccentric man, referring to his sword as a brother and reciting poetry every now and then. He was a deadly fighter; he dual wielded swords, one of which was enchanted with powerful wind magic, always putting on a spectacular display. And he loved toying with his opponents and leaving scars on their faces as mementos.

“He sounds like someone who needs a good beating,” said Loog.

“He’s a dangerous opponent,” said Pan. “We need to be cautious, Loog.”

“My previous statement still stands.”

* * *

When they were given their contracts and waivers to sign before entering the tournament, Loog saw that Pan’s hand faltered.

“Perhaps you’d want a stronger fighter at your side,” said Pan. “I’m sure the keepers of the arena can arrange that… I’m not allowed to heal anyway.”

“You may lack the strength, but you have a lion’s heart and a viper's cunning,” Loog told his friend. “I’ve never felt safer with you at my side.”

Pan smiled warmly and signed the papers.

“For the realm,” he said, extending towards Loog his hand.

“For the realm,” Loog replied, grasping it tightly. The Lion of the North had never doubted his companion and his fondness for Pan had only grown with the years.

And they were a great team! Their defence was flawless, and they easily made their way up the ranks in the tournament, earning the crowd’s praise as an undefeatable duo. Loog masterfully wielded his partisan, keeping enemies occupied with his constant cuts and thrusts, while Pan covered him with warding spells, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Pan certainly looked like an unremarkable helper with his helmet covering up his face, but no one could deny that he stole Loog’s thunder after blasting an opponent with his powerful Aura spell—the air of magic lifting his feathered cape while his eyes glowed like red flames: Like fire, they burned bright with fierce determination in battle. Like fire, they were full of comforting warmth—a hearth in bitter winter. And Loog, he adored that strong, enduring soul that still held his heart captive after so many years.

* * *

By the end of the week, they finally faced off against Kyphon, who’d not only brazenly arrived late to the fight, but forgotten to bring his partner, too.

Kyphon slowly stepped into the arena, wearing a tattered cape and some animal pelt on his shoulders fastened with a pair of saucer-sized fibulas. With gauntleted hands raised high up in the air, the warrior waved to the roaring crowd with a toothy grin that was framed by his scruffy dark beard. Long raven waves of hair cascaded past his shoulders and eyes as green as emeralds smiled proudly as he flexed his arms and posed for his supporters in the audience, who repeatedly shouted his name. His breastplate imitated the chest of a muscular man and a single spaulder with ridiculously large spikes rested on his left shoulder. He wore a skirt made of cloth and studded leather stripes, which left his lower limbs exposed at large since the only thing he wore for leg-protection was a pair of fur-lined boots.

Pan exchanged an exasperated look with Loog, who placed an open hand to his face in both embarrassment and shame. It was clear that their opponent was trying to look like a mighty warrior of the north, but anyone from Faerghus could see what a stupid caricature he was—the only thing missing from his ridiculous costume was a helmet decorated with horns.

“I stand corrected,” whispered Pan. “Let’s show this _buffoon_ how true warriors of the north do battle.”

“So glad we agree,” replied the friend feebly as he straightened his posture.

“ _You!_ ” said Loog, raising his voice at their opponent, pointing his partisan at Kyphon. “You must be mighty confidant to think you can take on both of us alone!”

Kyphon grinned and unsheathed a gilded blade inscribed with runes of magic. It hummed a long note and shone with magic, conjuring a wind that swept up the warrior’s raven tresses in the air and made the crowd go wild in excitement. The warrior turned away from his opponents to blow a kiss towards the emperor’s podium, and one of the young princesses stood up and screamed his name while the rest of the Imperial family frowned at the gesture, including Emperor Dietfried who was fondling a young woman on his lap.

“Pan, let’s go!” said Loog, brandishing his weapon and accepting the challenge. He charged ahead, meeting Kyphon’s sword in a bind with his partisan.

Evenly matched, Loog skilfully kept their opponent occupied with his weapon while Pan manoeuvred around the warrior and aimed a spell at Kyphon’s back. A brilliant flash of light showered the arena as Pan hit his mark with his Aura spell, and he quickly withdrew to Loog’s side afterwards.

But as the light faded away, Kyphon still stood tall with his two swords in his hands. His hair was dishevelled and beads of sweat shimmered on his face, but he was otherwise unharmed. Pan’s spell had left a large hole with singed edges in the warrior’s useless cape, revealing a shield strapped on his back underneath. The swordsman growled and slid his Singing Sword under his fibulas, cutting the pins and letting the cloak and the useless spaulder fall to the floor. His green eyes then flashed and he raised his magic sword, throwing it at Loog like a spear.

“ _Loog!_ ” Pan shouted, whirling ahead of his friend and brandishing his shield, knocking the Singing Sword off its trajectory and protecting his friend.

Loog rushed Kyphon with his partisan and thrust at the warrior’s neck, but the swordsman whirled out of the way and tossed a spell in Loog’s direction, slicing his azure cape to ribbons with wind magic while retrieving the shield on his back.

Pan would’ve attacked the swordsman too but Kyphon’s magic blade barred his way—the Singing Sword floated in the air and fought Pan aggressively without the hand of its wielder directing its moves! He clenched his teeth as he saw Kyphon manoeuvring behind Loog’s spearhead and aimed a cut at his throat with his other blade, missing by an inch as Loog evaded the strike in the nick of time. With a growl of frustration, Pan brandished his shield with all his might, smacking the Singing Sword across the arena. His outstretched hand shone with white magic as the sword turned around in the air, and as it flew back towards him a string of magic glyphs burst from his palm, encircling the blade as it made contact with his wrist. And silenced, the sword tumbled to the ground while blood began to drip from the long gash on Pan’s arm.

Suddenly, Loog let out a loud painful cry, his right leg cut up by another wind spell that Kyphon had cast. The swordsman relentlessly slashed with his other blade, skilfully dodging past the spearhead of Loog’s partisan and closing in for the finishing blow. But then Loog dropped his spear and caught Kyphon’s blade with his gauntleted hands. The magic of his Blaiddyd Crest flashed, shattering the sword and leaving the warrior in shock. Loog pounced on him like a beast, hands grasping his armour as he slammed the swordsman to the ground, but Kyphon furiously swung his shield, bashing Loog in the face with the might of his own Crest to everyone’s surprise—Kyphon was Crested _too_? Why hadn’t this been disclosed before the tournament?

There was no time to ponder the details, and Pan focused on the fight. He cast Aura as soon Kyphon shoved Loog away, enveloping the enemy in a ray of light while Loog recovered his partisan from the ground. The swordsman emerged nearly unscathed once more, but this time Pan saw what did the trick—his shield shone with power! It was another magical artefact! Crests and magics were to be disclosed _before_ the tournament to ensure sportsmanship, so why did the keepers of the arena allow this blatant cheating?

Loog thrust his partisan out, aiming at Kyphon’s face with a feint and then hooking the wings of the spearhead onto the edge of his shield. He pulled his weapon back, opening Kyphon up and then thrust again, the spearhead grazing the side of the swordsman’s neck and drawing blood as the warrior narrowly escaped the brunt of the blow. As Loog followed up with a swing, Kyphon quickly stepped back; this time receiving a cut across the bridge of his nose and left cheek.

Pan hurled a spell at the warrior, but Kyphon dodged and it almost hit Loog. The mage flinched and gasped at his own carelessness. And that moment of distraction was all Kyphon needed to touch the Singing Sword. The blade sang with power as it burst alive, summoning a whirlwind that sent Loog tripping backwards. It then soared through the air towards Pan, singing a long note in the wind.

Pan quickly raised his shield but the magic sword easily pierced both leather and wood and narrowly missed his arm! The Singing Sword rattled against the broken shield—the only thing stopping it from passing through was its own crossguard. He silenced the blade as quickly as he could, but it was already too late: Kyphon advanced, swift on his feet as if he could ride the wind itself! Pan reached for his sword, but the edge of Kyphon’s shield struck the side of his face and he tripped sideways in disorientation. Sharp pain cut into his thigh and he shrieked in agony, dropping to one knee as his trousers were soaked in his own blood.

“ _Pan!_ ” shouted Loog.

An arm—strong and relentless, wrapped around Pan’s torso from behind, and a hand—swift and resolute, forcefully tore his helmet off. A sea of gasps washed through the coliseum as Pan’s face was unmasked. He tried to wrench himself free, but it was useless as he barely had the strength to stand. As his helmet clattered to the ground, Pan could feel his opponent’s ragged breath in his hair. And Kyphon’s hand, claw-like and menacing, wrapped around his throat. Pan let out a pathetic cry as the warrior forced him to stand up straight despite his injuries, the hand around his neck cold like ice as a spell of wind magic glowed under Kyphon’s palm.

“ _No!_ ” said Loog. “ _Please!_ ”

“Looks like I’ve found your _weakness_ ,” said Kyphon, breathing heavily into Pan’s hair while sneering at Loog.

“Loog…” Pan muttered under his breath. He could barely stand up with the pain and loss of blood. “H-he’s… bluffing…” He tried to remind Loog that this wasn’t a fight to the death, but his voice was too weak and it was clear that his beloved friend couldn’t hear him over Kyphon’s taunts.

“Look at you, Loog! Who would’ve thought the Lion of the North was a bleeding heart!” said the swordsman. He squeezed Pan’s neck and laughed, cruel and cold, and the crowd laughed with him. Then, he lowered his voice and whispered in Pan’s ear the scornful words: “This is why I don’t bring companions; they’re all distractions and liability…”

Tears welled up in Pan’s fiery eyes as he watched Loog lowering his partisan. He bit his lower lip and drew upon his white magic, looking to his lifelong friend with a faint smile.

“For the realm…” he whispered as the spell took form, a bright circle of magic shining beneath his feet.

Pain suddenly shot up his ankle as Kyphon violently shoved him sideways and out of the circle of light. And yet more pain tore into shoulder as he landed on the ground, blinded by the light of his destructive spell. The last thing he saw was Loog’s partisan flying toward Kyphon and the warrior blocking it with his shield.

* * *

When Pan came to and opened his eyes, Loog grasped his hand and pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“Did you… beat him?” said Pan, fiery eyes meeting cornflower blue ones.

“No,” said Loog, averting his gaze. “He... ran away.”

Pan blinked his weary eyes, groaning and struggling to sit up, and Loog draped an arm across his back and drew him up against his broad chest. He realized he was in a foreign bed—likely in the infirmary of the arena. Daylight poured in from the open window; had been unconscious for a few hours or for an entire day?

“What do you mean he ran away?” said Pan.

“He picked up his weapons and just bolted out of the arena…”

“That’s… strange. He was so intent on winning that he’d take me hostage.”

“He might’ve committed a heinous crime since the Imperial Knights were asking for him after the match, but wouldn’t tell me for what.”

Loog pressed the back of Pan’s hand to his heart.

“Let’s not dwell on that fool. We won, and Lord Albrecht scheduled us to meet the Emperor later this evening,” he said. “As soon we’re done here, let’s head home together, my love… I’m sick of this place.”


	3. Chapter 3

_For his friend Sylvain Gautier’s thirty-third birthday, Felix Fraldarius notably presented an expensive gift. It was a majestic black wyvern with big, strong wings—a rare breed that could only be obtained through capture in the steep cliffs of Rhodos Coast. And while it certainly impressed House Gautier and the rest of the guests attending the party, Sylvain didn’t understand why he was given such an exotic beast, especially since he wasn’t particularly fond of wyverns or even a very gifted flier. He also found it morbid that Felix would name the wyvern after his deceased brother Glenn._

_The next year, he finally realized the gift’s true meaning and took flight from home in the middle of spring._

* * *

 **T** he sun gilds the horizon in the evening and the azure banners of House Blaiddyd billow in the wind above Castle Fhirdiad’s towers. It is the seventh year of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd’s reign as King of Faerghus. Crows caw and wings flutter as Duke Felix Fraldarius hastily marches out of his quarters in the east wing and crosses the sunlit battlements, scattering the birds on the crenellations as he marches to the main building of the keep as if he carries urgent news of a war in horizon. Castle guards and servants know better than to bar his way when they see the look in his eyes—his countenance is dark and his strides are long and quick, shouting “King!” whenever he rounds a corner or opens a door.

The great hall is being cleaned for the season, and Felix slows his pace when he sees the old castle steward perched on top of a long squeaky ladder while hanging up the weathered old tapestries. Anton wobbles on the ladder and Felix’s eyes grow tall when he sees how the rung bends under his feet. He darts towards the steward as the ladder breaks, catching the old man in his arms and saving him from breaking a limb _again_.

Felix narrows his eyes in disdain while Anton takes a moment to calm his racing heart.

“Ah, my lord Felix! How embarrassing!” Anton laughs weakly as Felix sets him down to his feet. “I didn’t see how old that ladder was!”

“And you haven’t figured out your own age either, old fox,” says Felix. “How many times do I have to tell you to stick to your _actual_ duties instead of running the servants out of a job? You’re _eighty_ years old—not _eighteen_.”

“Hah, do not fret, my lord… There’s still some use in these old bones.”

“Not if you _keep_ falling down high places,” Felix mutters under his breath while rubbing his forehead. “Where’s the King?” he then asks.

“His Majesty is in his study,” replies Anton.

Felix nods and heads upstairs.

“ _King,_ ” he says, opening the door to Dimitri’s study with a sharp tug at the handle, only to find it unmanned with the spring breeze filling the room and the curtains flowing at the wide-open casement. Felix hears the crows cawing outside and he sees reports and papers neatly stacked up under paperweights and a teakettle smoking on the desk. Finally, he spots it—in front of the King’s old armchair is a letter laid out open, written in a very familiar script. He throws a quick glance at the signature and the date and then pulls a similar scroll out of his pocket and tosses on the desk. Then, he pulls aside the curtain, revealing a head of golden hair billowing in the wind.

The King is standing outside, leaning against the wall while wearing a simple shirt and trousers of undyed linen—creamy white—and his azure cape is lazily draped over his shoulders. His hands are covered up with the dark leather gloves Felix gifted him a while ago, hiding away ugly scars he retained from an attempt on his life involving a poison robe. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is a poor king. The kings and queens of Faerghus were poor by definition, but Dimitri is probably the poorest monarch in Fódlan’s history—from his unwillingness to tax the population more than necessary down to the simple linens and wools that clothe his body. He cannot bring himself to return to a life of luxury, and he barely keeps enough servants to maintain his castle; he’s ridded it of extravagance to replenish the royal treasury after nearly spending it all on building schools and orphanages. The people hail him as the Saviour King, but the King’s generosity is both admirable and heartbreaking—for Dimitri thinks he doesn’t deserve good things.

Felix presses a hand down against the windowsill and then leaps through the casement. There’s a flutter of feathers as the crows on the balustrade abandon the bread and take flight, leaving the King and his right-hand advisor alone on the wall.

“You should tell Anton to have another door installed in your study if you go out so often…” Felix mutters, turning his head sideways towards his king. His eyes grow tall as he sees Dimitri standing rigidly with his back pressed against the wall: His fingers scrabble against the stone and a river of tears flows from his functioning eye and into his scruffy beard.

“King?” Felix says, questioning, putting a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder.

“ _No! Go away!_ ” the King yelps and squats to the floor, hands covering his head as he curls up against the wall. “Felix…” he then whispers, a desperate cry for help. “ _Felix_ , where are you?”

“Dima,” Felix says, his voice soothing and calm despite his heart hammering against his ribs. He falls to his knees and reaches out towards the King with shaking hands, gently prying Dimitri’s fingers out of his tousled hair. “Dima, I’m here,” Felix coos as Dimitri slowly faces him, excessively sweet as he guides Dimitri’s arms around his waist. “Felix is right here.”

Dimitri’s eye lights up, and Felix gasps when the King desperately embraces him, gripping and tearing at the back of his knitted polo neck sweater, which extends its loops to accommodate. Felix leans over his beloved friend, protectively building a fortress around Dimitri’s head with his arms. The duke gently buries his fingers in the King’s soft blond hair and then hums a song.

_An ardent fire_

_That never dies_

_From east to west and west to east_

_He searched for the Lost Prince_

His heart calms in relief as the King joins him in the middle of the refrain. Dimitri’s voice is wracked with tears, but he hums the entire song regardless and repeats it until the voices in his head retire.

_Five long years_

_Yet no one hears_

_Felix Fraldarius_

_Ever lose hope_

The light is almost gone when the storm finally blows over, and the air has long gone cold. But the King and his advisor remain warm in each other’s embrace; the Saviour King cradles Duke Fraldarius’s shoulder-blades while spilling everything the demons in his mind says and makes him feel. For despite the years, Dimitri cannot truly forgive himself and probably never will.

The duke silently listens and soaks up the King’s guilt and shame and fear. It took Felix a decade to understand that it’s fine to ask for help, and it took Dimitri longer still to finally trust Felix with his heart once more. For even though King Dimitri has adored Felix Fraldarius since he was a young prince, he did not truly understand him and has always feared rejection from the one he loved the most.

“Felix…” the King finally speaks, his words as frail as glass. “I… I truly do not deserve you.”

“ _Dimitri_ ,” Felix says, irritated but certainly not unkind, his hands still caressing the King’s golden locks. He gives Dimitri the time he needs to get back up; there’s no need to pretend to be strong or to be all right when the two of them are alone.

The King chuckles, but his voice quivers while he tugs at the duke’s knitted sweater again.

“Did Ingrid’s resignation letter bring out the ghosts?” asks Felix.

Dimitri nods in silence, his lips forming a melancholic smile as Felix continues to hold him. The King is deeply ashamed of his own weakness, but he feels safe in Felix’s capable hands again after so many years. After so much misery and so many missteps, they’ve found each other again. After so many twists and turns, they were finally home.

“It was so sudden,” whispers Dimitri. “She was here days ago, and now both she and Sylvain are gone, just like that…”

“Oh _please_ ,” Felix rasps in indignation, releasing his king and rearranging his own legs to sit more comfortably against the wall. “Don’t talk like they’re dead. They left on a journey together. They’ll come back some day once their fathers are done bickering about lineage, Crests, inheritance, succession rules and whatnot.”

“I know…” Dimitri says with a wry smile lingering on his lips. “It’s just… It feels like everyone is leaving…”

“They left your court,” says Felix, shaking his head, “but they’re still here. We just visited Annette in the School of Sorcery last week and Dedue and Mercedes have got their hands full of applications and class arrangements. Once their workload lessens they’ll come see you for sure.”

“Hah, you seem to know a lot of what Dedue is up to lately,” says the King.

“ _Of course_ I do! My son attends Duscur language class in his school.”

“Yvette would be proud.”

“I’m not doing anything for _her_ sake,” hisses Felix. “And you better watch out, King,” he then adds, “Florian is growing increasingly fond of his Uncle Dedue. You might lose your title of Favourite Uncle soon.”

“Well, I’ve lost once to Annette already,” says Dimitri with a calm smile. He raises his hand towards his advisor in a soft gesture, putting his fingers in Felix’s hair and tucking long raven locks back behind the duke’s ear.

“Let’s not be unfair, King; no one wins against Auntie Annette—”

Felix flinches when he feels the prickly sting on his scalp and Dimitri withdraws his hand, presenting a single grey hair.

“Another one,” says the King with a playful smile.

Felix groans and rolls his eyes.

“Maybe that hair dye your father left behind will be of use soon?”

“Shut up. I’m not putting that garbage in my hair.”

“Speaking of Rodrigue, it’s the end of Great Tree Moon—”

“Yes, I’ll light a candle for him,” Felix says before Dimitri can finish. He snorts and looks to the fading twilight, hearing Dimitri laugh heartily at his response.

“Well, King,” says Felix. He sighs and stretches his legs. “Any plans for stopping Sylvain and Ingrid’s stubborn fathers from starting another civil war?”

“Are you telling me you _don’t_ have a plan, Duke Fraldarius?” Dimitri says with a hearty laugh. “ _You’re_ the one who gifted Sylvain wings! I couldn’t even imagine that the wedding woes would escalate to _this_.”

“ _Really_ , King?” Felix lowers his eyebrows while folding his arms over his chest. “As much as Charles-René and Valdemar obsess over Crests and linage it’s no surprise they’d fight over who’s marrying into whose family.”

The King averts his gaze.

“You’re right,” says Dimitri. “I’m sorry I made you mediate their… _attempt_ at a deal. That must have been… an excruciating experience.” He then looks towards the horizon. “Makes me wonder how Rodrigue arranged Glenn and Ingrid’s betrothal…”

Felix spits out a sardonic laugh and doesn’t reply immediately. There’s a flutter of feathers as a crow lands on the wall.

“Things are always easier when you have a _spare_ to auction off,” whispers Felix as he watches the bird peck the bread on the balustrade. A rueful smile briefly dawns on his lips as the crow stretches out its wings and flies away after eating the crumbs. “I was so _blind_ …” he whispers. “Glenn and Ingrid’s engagement was _matrilineal_.”

Felix inhales deeply and then loudly exhales. He rubs his forehead and shakes off his thoughts of guilt. Clearing his throat, he says:

“Some people only learn the value of a treasure once it’s lost.”

“I only wish Ingrid and Sylvain happiness,” says the King. “They’ve suffered enough,” Dimitri gazes skywards and sighs, “both from the cards they were dealt at birth and from _my_ mistakes.”

“Felix…” he then says, looking up towards his dearest friend. “You don’t— _No one_ deserves a life-sentence with the Boar.”

Felix clenches his teeth and his breath hitches at the sound of that distasteful name.

“ _Dimitri,_ ” says Felix. It comes out gravelly and perhaps a bit harsher than intended and he exhales a long breath to the wind. “Don’t call yourself… _that_.”

Perhaps Dimitri regards it as a funny nickname now, but to Felix it will forever be a reminder of the coward he used to be—the coward who betrayed his own heart and abandoned his beloved friend.

“This isn’t a _life-sentence_ ,” Felix continues, his gaze lingering on the sun’s last rays on the sky. “This is _my choice_.” He turns his head and looks at the King. “You’ve _always_ been my choice, Dimitri.”

“You’ve been swinging a sword all your life…” says the King sombrely. “Are you truly happy being my advisor?”

Felix sighs deeply and leans against his king. And the King, he carefully drapes his cape around the duke’s shoulders.

“I am where I’ve _want_ to be,” Felix replies. He lets out a hearty laugh and his eyes flutter close. The Saviour King named him Royal Advisor, but Felix knows he’s much more than that. He already was one of Dimitri’s most powerful vassals before, and now nothing gets to the King without Duke Fraldarius’s admission and screening. The amount of power Felix can possibly exert over the Kingdom is frightening, but it isn’t for power, fame or glory that Felix Fraldarius remains steadfast and true to his liege. He finds joy walking through life with his dearest, most precious friend and purpose in sharing all of Dimitri’s burdens. As for the sword—as fond as Felix was of the swish of the blade and the thrill of victory, it was a means to an end—to prove himself to his father and the world, to surpass his brother, to serve the Kingdom; to protect his friends, to save his people from oppression, and to save Dimitri from himself.

Opening his eyes and seeing the first stars twinkling on the night sky, Felix stands up and stretches his limbs and yawns. Then, he turns to his king and extends towards Dimitri his hand.

“Ready to get up yet?” asks Felix. “It’s getting cold out here.”

Dimitri’s lips thin into a serene smile. He reaches up and grips his advisor’s wrist while Felix returns the gesture and then hauls the King up to his feet.

“Felix,” says the Saviour King, removing his right glove and carefully placing his scarred palm on Felix’s cheek, “my beloved Felix…” And the duke allows the hand to linger on his face—he cannot say no to that voice that speaks his name with such reverence that the sound makes his heart sing. “You’re so strong, Felix. You fall, but you always get back up and fight on. You’re so brave, Felix. Even when you’re scared… you fight on. All those years, I’ve feared you wouldn’t understand someone as weak as me… and yet—”

Felix never learnt how to verbally rebuff praise without being demeaning and cruel, but he grasps the collar of Dimitri’s shirt and pulls the Saviour King down for a kiss, silencing him all the same. He keeps his eyes on the smile on Dimitri’s lips when he pulls away, and as they finally start trekking to the nearest castle door, the King’s advisor clears his throat.

“Now, where was I?” he says. “Right, you need another door installed in your study, King.”


	4. Chapter 4

_In the wake of Rufus Blaiddyd’s sudden death, Cornelia Arnim installed herself as regent of the Kingdom and immediately took control of the investigation of the grand duke’s murder._

_She raided Prince Dimitri’s private quarters, finding numerous incriminating documents in the drawers of his writing desk: there were documents detailing the prince’s endeavours in unravelling an alleged conspiracy behind the Tragedy of Duscur; there were letters revealing Prince Dimitri’s deep seeded hatred for people he’d supposedly forgiven—the lords and ladies who once opposed him in the Western Rebellion had been granted amnesty by the grand duke after the civil war. And then there was a long list of people he was going to have killed—with his uncle Rufus’s name at the top!_

_Prince Dimitri was arrested and put on trial for his uncle’s murder—the emperors of Adrestia might be untouchable, but Faerghus’s monarchs were not above the law!_

_Grand Duke Rufus was slaughtered in his sleep and his body parts were scattered across his bedroom. Hence, the prosecution used testimonies of Prince Dimitri’s wanton bloodlust to condemn his character. This enraged the Crown Prince, who lashed out against his detractors and started a fight, which ended with the deaths of two royal knight and three other nobles._

_The court declared Prince Dimitri guilty and sentenced him to death. But House Fraldarius—ever so loyal to House Blaiddyd, hatched a plan to rescue the prince from his fate. Their efforts proved fruitless, however, as Cornelia caught wind of their scheme. And to crush any hope of a rebellion before it could begin, she had Prince Dimitri killed in prison beforehand and his body hung up for display at the gates of Fhirdiad on the day of execution._

*** * ***

**A** ndré Ulysse Fraldarius—master of subterfuge, always second fiddle but never malcontent. He lacked a Crest and his older brother’s prestige, but he was a considerably better politician and administrator than Rodrigue, who was trained for war. While his older brother pursued a military career, André was in the Royal Court, identifying plots and schemes and bringing the important details to his brother’s attention as he saw fit. A snake in the bushes to Rodrigue’s lion on the field, Felix’s uncle was as good as a Fraldarius could be when it came to schemes. But even with _him_ leading the operation of rescuing the Prince, the plot _failed_.

Felix had no reason to think there was a spy among them—every one of his cousins was as stupidly loyal as they came. But House Fraldarius was _famously bull-headed_ and _some_ idiots had let the plan slip out to the public days before the execution!

It wasn’t even an _elaborate_ plot. It was the most straight-forward operation Felix could _think_ of: Disguise yourself and go to the capital, go to the execution, and rush the platform on the signal! There was no sneaking into prison, no lies and no complicated strings to pull—the plan was to rescue the Prince in the open in order to sway public opinion! This was the most _Fraldarius-friendly_ plot one could cook up, but _some_ idiots couldn’t keep their mouths shut for two days!

And now the Prince was dead. No, none of that pretending he was a beast or demon nonsense—Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was _stone dead_ ; his defiled body was strung up at the gates of Fhirdiad for all to see!

The Prince, they hacked off his limbs—the body they dangled over the wall was a stump! They gouged out his eyes and the rest of his face was bruised and swollen and almost completely unrecognizable.

Felix didn’t believe in a fate worse than death, whether before or after the Tragedy of Duscur. But when he stood at the gates of Fhirdiad and witnessed what had become of Dimitri, the ardent flames in his soul that once kept him from falling into despair during House Fraldarius’s darkest days turned against him.

Felix didn’t believe in revenge for the dead, whether before or after the Tragedy of Duscur. But then he saw her— _Cornelia_ — _the murderer_ and usurper of the throne, trotting up on the wall under fanfares and addressing the people with deceitful words and spouting barefaced _lies_ about Faerghus’s Crown Prince—about _Felix’s_ beloved prince. And the flames of his soul escaped, searing his blood and threatening to consume everything else in its way.

“ _I’ll kill you!_ ” Felix shrieked and cursed at the witch—the first among many to raise his voice, as a riot began in the crowd. Beast or not, Dimitri was very, _very_ loved as Faerghus’s Crown Prince. People had hopes for him to turn the Kingdom’s fortune around! And this _witch—!_

She _killed_ him. She killed him and _defaced_ him and _dismembered_ him and who _knew_ if she did those things _in that order!_ Dimitri… this witch tortured and killed him! And then… she’d strung him up to hang at the gate while presenting herself as a hero to the people…

 _Cornelia Arnim!_ He’d _tear_ her deceitful face apart and _feed_ her to the crows the way she did Dimitri! He’d _crush_ her bones to dust and _scatter_ it in the flames of Ailell so that she may _never_ know a single moment of peace!

If Cousin Jacques hadn’t grabbed Felix and pulled him away from the scene, Felix would’ve discarded his disguise and rushed the gate with his sword drawn—to be immediately filled with arrows from Cornelia’s archers. If Uncle André hadn’t knocked Felix’s father out and dragged him away from the wall, both Duke Fraldarius and his son would’ve fallen into Cornelias trap and thrown their lives away for naught in that riot.

* * *

They retreated. They needed to devise a new plan. So they headed back to the duchy of Fraldarius. Felix’s family was resting in Ardghal Village at the village chief’s home when Ingrid arrived, panicking with a bloodied Sylvain on her pegasus.

Sylvain, Ingrid and Gilbert had stayed in Fhirdiad waiting until nightfall to cut the dead prince’s body down from the wall. And Sylvain was badly injured when he and Gilbert rushed the bowmen trying to shoot Ingrid down from her pegasus—only narrowly escaping Cornelia’s clutches on their steeds.

Lord Rodrigue immediately began ordering Felix and Cousin Jacques to fetch this and get that, while he and Uncle André hauled Sylvain into one of the rooms with a bed to see to the nasty arrow-wound in his left thigh. While the village chief showed Jacques where to fetch water, Felix retrieved his uncle’s bag of medicinal supplies. His father then met them in the hall, taking the gathered tools and then telling them to take care of Ingrid while he and André dealt with Sylvain.

Ingrid sat on the floor outside the room, her bloodied fingers tangled in her golden hair while she cried and chanted how it was all her fault. Jacques offered her the usual meaningless words of comfort but Felix could only stand there, closing his hands into fists and digging his nails into his palms while they listened to Sylvain’s cries of pain.

 _What_ were they _thinking_? Felix had seen his fair share of foolish knights, but _this_ was a _new level_ of idiocy! What were they trying to accomplish saving a damn _corpse_? And for _what_? A burial rite? As if _Dimitri_ would have wanted _any_ of this senseless sacrifice for his _useless cadaver_?

A stream of bright light poured out from the chinks of the door. Felix’s father mumbled something and the uncle responded in a subdued tone. Then one of them used white magic again—a stronger spell. They used it again. And again. And _again_. How many spells did it take to heal a simple arrow wound? Why was it taking so long to extract a barbed arrowhead? There was clinking and clanking. Sylvain groaned and childishly complained when Lord Rodrigue forced several concoctions down his throat. The father and uncle mumbled amongst themselves and then they cast more magic—Felix could swear he saw some red in the white flashes of lights. What were they doing? Were they cauterizing his wound? It was an arrow to the thigh, not a severed limb! Or were they—? Felix held his breath as the dreadful thought crossed his mind.

Seconds passed like minutes. Minutes passed like hours. Finally, after an eternity, the door opened and Duke Fraldarius exited with a bucket full of used supplies and bloodied tools. And on top of those was the arrowhead that had been extracted from the wound: it was gilded, which meant it was enchanted—gold was notably magic compliant, making it the preferred metal for enchantments.

Felix reached out and rigidly grabbed his father’s arm with a beseeching look.

“He’s fine,” said Duke Fraldarius sombrely. He nodded weakly to his son but didn’t meet Felix’s eyes. “Go see him.”

Ingrid rushed to the side of the bed, grasping one of Sylvain’s hands, while Felix approached slowly and carefully. The fool lay on the small cot, still wearing dirty armour on his upper body while his legs were covered up with a blanket—at least he still had both his legs.

Felix clenched his teeth. His spirit was revisiting the northern citadel, standing before a seventeen year old Sylvain who lay in his bed recovering from arsenic poisoning. The haunting memory repeated in his mind and he felt just as helpless as he did back then; when he and Ingrid knelt at Sylvain’s bedside, each clutching one of his hands and regretting not being there protecting him from his treacherous brother, who’d comforted Sylvain with his right hand and poisoned him with his left.

Just like the boy from the past, the Sylvain of the present smiled too: meekly; his lips barely curving upwards and his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. He let out a ragged laugh and strained his voice to painfully make light of his injury:

“Hey… Ingrid… don’t cry,” said Sylvain. “Oh Felix, don’t worry. I’ll be fine… in a day or two. And guess what? I’ll… have a nice scar and another story to tell—”

“Are you _insane_?” Felix shouted at his friend—his sworn brother; the idiot didn’t have the least amount of regret for his stupid manoeuvre! “What kind of fool _are_ you—risking your life for a damn _corpse_? You’re putting the biggest idiots of House Fraldarius to shame! At least Pontus and Gaston died protecting a _live_ person when they threw their lives away in the palace of justice!”

“Felix—” began Ingrid, who immediately became the next recipient of Felix’s ire.

“And _you_!” Felix roared, his accusing finger pointed at Ingrid before the words even left his lips. “Was this whole thing _your_ idea? You and your obsession with the _garbage ideals_ that took _Glenn_ from us—!”

“ _Felix,_ that’s _enough!_ ”

As his uncle’s clear voice pierced the shroud of anger, Felix was suddenly taken aback by the words that had jumped out of his own mouth. His stomach lurched as he laid eyes on Sylvain’s forlorn expression and Ingrid’s unshed tears.

“ _Felix_ ,” said Uncle André again, firm and unwavering.

Felix closed his lips tightly. He whirled around, kicked over a stool, and stomped out of the room, violently slamming the door shut after him.

* * *

The Prince’s mangled body now rested in the cold dungeon below Castle Fraldarius; Gilbert—or _Sir Gustave_ , brought it back after taking a detour riding across the Itha Plains to draw attention away from Ingrid and Sylvain.

Felix locked himself away in his room the moment his father announced the old knight’s arrival. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the body again—even being in the castle and knowing it was down in the dungeon filled his soul with dread.

That day, Lord Rodrigue sent word to the entirety of House Fraldarius, calling them to the castle to discuss their future now that Prince Dimitri had been slain. That evening, Felix Fraldarius wrecked his own room in rage and nearly defaced himself in grief.

He wiped the books on his desk to the floor and then kicked over his chair. Then, he proceeded towards his bookcase, tearing the tomes out from the shelves and throwing them in random directions and then finally pushing the furniture over, kicking it until his feet ached. But even after the destruction of his room, his rage burned as bright as ever and he retreated to his bed, pulling his duvet over his head and wishing that the darkness could grant him a moment of peace.

Could he have saved him? Could he have saved the Prince had he gone to Fhirdiad instead of running back to the duchy like a coward? Could he have stopped Dimitri from instigating that fight in the trial that ultimately sealed his fate, had he examined the situation with a clear mind instead of foolishly believing Cornelia’s lies?

He threw the duvet off and sat up in the moonlit night, gazing at his older brother’s portrait on the wall. Glenn Victor Fraldarius—the brilliant young knight who sacrificed his life to save his prince instead of himself.

Felix used to not believe in fates worse than death, whether before or after the Tragedy of Duscur. But the moment he laid eyes on the Prince’s dismembered body hanging from the gates of Fhirdiad, his entire world collapsed at his feet and he took back everything cruel he’d ever said about Dimitri. Even now, he dearly wished he’d followed the Prince back to the capital and protected him as he’d promised himself to do. He even wished he’d gone to that damn trial and _died like a true knight_ in that stupid scuffle with his two idiot cousins. For _anything_ was a mercy compared to the fate he’d been given—to be forced to live on with his soul perpetually on fire and his heart replaced with a maelstrom of guilt.

Felix dragged his feet towards the mirror hanging next to Glenn’s portrait and pulled his hair-tie loose, spilling long raven locks over his shoulders.

Ridiculous, he thought for himself, lips curving upwards into a sardonic smile as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“Ridiculous,” Felix whispered for himself while opening the drawer in his nightstand and retrieving a pair of sharp scissors.

He looked _ridiculous_ , he thought, grabbing a handful of his own hair and beginning to cut the long tresses off.

Growing his hair out was the _stupidest_ idea that could have ever entered his mind! Who did he think he was? Felix hissed in frustration as the scissors got stuck in the thickness of the hair, vigorously sawing at the raven strands while tears began to cloud his eyes. Glenn and Jacques kept their hair short for a reason—to not look like pansy nobles wanting to play knights! If his goal was to be a silly court jester like _Lorenz_ or _Claude_ he might have hit the mark, but Felix was a _warrior_ and _a man of the north!_ His image had to exude strength and inspire respect! And _this_ … _Who_ did he think he was? _Kyphon or Loog_? _No wonder_ everyone looked at Felix with scorn when he rode through the castle town to go fight the Western rebellion at Avalon Hill—he was an absolute mockery of the legend himself!

After severing the last bundle of long locks from his head and looking at the dark fluff at his feet, he drew a deep breath while slowly raising his head to gaze at his reflection in the mirror:

He was a complete mess—his hair was mussed and unevenly cut, his eyes were sunken and had lost their lustre, and his cheeks were stained with tears.

Unacceptable, Felix thought as he gripped the scissors; his eyes hardening as he opened them and pointed one of the blades at his face, absently tracing a line from the bridge of his nose and across his left cheek.

“ _Felix_ …” He then heard a voice from the past call out to him and froze _._ “You’re so beautiful, Felix,” said Dimitri—a distant memory; a dream Felix was unworthy of owning after betraying himself and his prince.

“I’ve always loved you, Felix,” said the Prince. “Ever since we were little… I’ve loved you, Felix.”

The scissors clattered to the floor as a half-sob escaped Felix’s lips. The tears began to flow and he slammed a closed fist against his mirror, breaking the glass with the power of his Crest. Felix slipped his fingers into his hair and gripped the shortened strands, pulling hard enough for it to ache. And then he laughed—or did he cry? He couldn’t tell the difference anymore as he sank down to the floor on his knees, his shoulders quaking while raspy sounds erupted from his throat.

The Prince had spoken those words with such reverence that Felix could do nothing but _believe him._ He’d looked into Felix’s eyes with such adoration that Felix knew they _must_ be true. When Dimitri gathered the long locks in his hands the night before the Battle of Avalon Hill and gently put them in a loose braid, Felix was convinced that he did possess _some_ kind of beauty that only his Dima could see. For the Prince could have chosen _anyone_ in the Kingdom, and yet… he chose _this_ —a housecat pretending he was a lion; a goose thinking he was a swan!

If only he hadn’t been a _coward_ and talked to Dimitri in Garreg Mach. If only Felix hadn’t been a coward and _talked Dimitri out of his quest for vengeance_ during the night of the ball—when the Prince _let all his walls down for him—_ he could’ve saved him from this terrible fate! But Felix was _scared_. He’d been weak and afraid; he’d been too weak to save his prince. Once again, Felix was too weak to save the _one_ person who validated all his feelings and loved him for all the things he was and for everything he wasn’t!

He was unworthy. He was unworthy of the name Fraldarius. All that talk about strength and bravery and overcoming weaknesses, yet here he was—the _coward_ who’d twice abandoned his prince and allowed the snakes of the Royal Court to frame and murder his beloved friend!

* * *

It was past midnight when Felix Fraldarius descended down the cold dungeons and lifted the sheet covering the body of his prince. Before leaving his name and his home for good, he raked his fingers through Dimitri’s hair for one last time and tearfully said goodbye.

And then, he discovered the truth.

This wasn’t the Prince’s body: Dimitri had _double hair crowns_! Whose corpse was this? And _where was Dima?_


	5. Chapter 5

**A** nd there he stood—Kyphon—on top of the emperor’s bed in the middle of the night, with his Singing Sword pointed at Dietfried’s throat and winds of magic tearing down ornaments from the walls. The magic runes on the blade glowed bright green, illuminating the room with ghastly light.

“ _Dietfried von Hresvelg_ ,” said Kyphon, dark tresses caught in the wind as he addressed the emperor, who lay next to his slain concubine in the bed. “We meet again.”

“Wh-who are you?” The cowardly monarch scrambled back in terror, catching himself on the bedpost and curtains. “G-guards!” he cried. “ _An assassin!_ Guards! _Guards!_ ”

The enchanted blade sang and the light of the runes flickered, and Kyphon smiled and laughed lowly, cruel and amused while the emperor called for henchmen that couldn’t respond beyond the grave.

“W-wait, I know you,” said Dietfried with a forced smile, looking up towards the warrior like cornered prey. “Y-you’re that gladiator my daughter is so very fond of… Y-you have my blessing—”

Kyphon’s green eyes flashed and he flicked his wrist, landing a cut on the side of the emperor’s deceitful face with his sword. And Dietfried von Hresvelg gasped and slowly touched his cheek, gazing at the blood on his fingers with a look of terror. He drew in a quick gasp, his chest rising and falling rapidly while his mouth opened and closed wordlessly like a goldfish.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about _your daughter_ ,” hissed Kyphon. He seized the front of the emperor’s shirt with his free hand and then threw the monarch face-first to the floor. “My brother and I went through _hell_ to return to Fódlan and take your head! You think I’d be distracted by a pretty face?”

The Singing Sword sang a low note and glowed with power as Kyphon leapt off the bed and took a step towards the lowly _creature_ on the floor.

“ _WAIT!_ ” screeched the emperor in fright, his tears mixing with the blood on his face. “If you kill me you won’t be able to get out alive! Whatever you want, O Warrior, I’ll give it to you! Please— _please, don’t kill me!_ ”

The enchanted blade sang louder, its runes flashing as the winds rose and tore down the silk curtains at the bed. And Kyphon listened and nodded with a scornful smile.

“You’re right, Brother,” scoffed Kyphon. “Only a _fool_ would trust this worm with an Empire. The moment I broke into the palace I knew my life was _forfeit_. Had I known what useless knights he’d replaced our siblings with, I would’ve stormed the palace the moment I got off the boat instead of relying on his daughter for help!”

He raised the sword for a swing and a smile—cruel and cold—was drawn on his face, and Dietfried screamed for help again.

“ _Kyphon!_ ” a voice from the doorway suddenly pierced the air, and the swordsman froze in his movement and narrowed his eyes with contempt. Slowly, Kyphon turned his head towards the door where Loog and his helper stood—both staring at him in equal parts shock and terror with the light of magic painting their faces with stark shadows.

“ _Albrecht!_ ” shouted the emperor. “Help me!”

Seeing one of the Dietfried’s dogs trying to hide behind Loog and his friend and sneak away, Kyphon raised his enchanted blade and directed its magic, tearing the man’s throat with a cutting gale. He then swung the sword at the bedpost and sliced through the wood as if it was hot butter, causing the bed to creak dangerously and drawing out a shriek from the cowardly monarch. He narrowed his eyes and then lowered his blade, watching Loog’s little helper pour healing magic into Dietfried’s worthless minion.

“Kyphon!” said Loog, his hand flew to his hip and grasped at nothing in the air—he had clearly left his weapons with the guards before entering the Imperial Palace.

“Ah, Loog von Blaiddyd. Glad to see you on the same path,” said Kyphon, turning his head back towards the cowering creature on the floor. “I’d give you the honour… but I have a promise to keep…”

He stepped towards his prey, who uselessly tried to scramble away. He caught the front of the emperor’s shirt and then tossed him at Loog’s feet. The winds rose and angrily shredded the remains of the curtains hanging from the bed. The Singing Sword sang yet again and the runes flashed like lightning.

“Patience, my brother,” said Kyphon, raising the sword and carefully caressing the flat of the blade with his free hand. “He isn’t going anywhere. Soon, we will have our vengeance. _Soon_ , you will have his head.”

Loog glared at the helpless monarch and then at Kyphon. He was about to speak when his little helper grasped his arm. Loog looked towards Pan, who shook his head in disapproval. Kyphon couldn’t help but let out a scornful breath of a laugh.

He stepped away from the creaking bed and towards Dietfried, who immediately threw himself at Loog’s feet, pleading for help—for _mercy_. And Loog, the Lion of the North, he stood there frozen in shock and confusion. Pan however glowered at Kyphon with fiery eyes, hands gripping Loog’s arm tightly.

“Tell me, Dietfried von Hresvelg,” said Kyphon, ignoring the little shrimp. He grasped the emperor’s hair and pulled his head up to put the blade against his exposed neck, “does the name _Conall von Blaiddyd_ ring a bell?”

Kyphon cast a quick look at Loog, whose deep blue eyes immediately widened.

“C-Conall von Blaiddyd!” said Dietfried. “Y-yes, _yes_! I remember him! _Yes!_ ”

“Your father sacrificed Lord Conall’s battalion to save your wretched hide in the war,” said Kyphon. “Count Blaiddyd and his daughter Maeve, my father and my siblings, and so many other good men and women—they all fought and _died_ for your family’s greed and selfish ambitions! And _you_ —you _dastard_ —you spat on their loyalty and smeared their names, blaming Lord Conall for the failure of the invasion!”

“I-I—”

“ _You knave!_ You murdered your own father to take his crown! You thought you could cover it up by _leaving the rest of us to die as captives in foreign land?_ Well, unfortunately for you, _I escaped_. My brother made the ultimate sacrifice so that _I— Erwann von Fraldarius—_ could return to Fódlan and end your wretched life!”

The Singing Sword sang high and soundly and Kyphon smiled in agreement, nodding with his eyes fixed on the runes of magic while the emperor grovelled at Loog’s feet.

“There’s no use begging,” said Kyphon. “The dead shall have their tribute.”

But before he could slit Dietfried’s throat, Loog reached out and grasped his wrist, clenching down so hard that Kyphon’s arm might break. And then before he knew it a fist crashed into his nose and sent him stumbling backwards. The Singing Sword clattered to the floor and Kyphon urged his magic forth.

“ _Dastard!_ ” he shouted with his wind spell in hand, but a ring of magic glyphs snapped around his arm and dispelled the charm. When Kyphon shot an accusing glare toward Loog’s helper, the little man stared back at him in shock and confusion.

Dietfried then cast another treacherous spell; it manifested as powdered snow and it warped Kyphon’s senses and sapped away his strength.

“Fools… He’ll betray you as he betrayed… our fathers,” said Kyphon, who only managed to take three steps before collapsing on the floor.

* * *

_As soon Loog accepted his duties as Count Blaiddyd, he set out on a journey to collect letters and signatures from both rulers and commoners in Faerghus, determined to use his position of power to bring the suffering of the realm to Emperor Dietfried’s attention. He journeyed to Enbarr and presented the letters to the emperor, but Dietfried von Hresvelg refused to listen to his people’s plight and instead imprisoned Loog for high treason._

_On the day of his execution, his sworn friend Kyphon stormed the platform with his Singing Sword, smiting the executioner with his magic and cutting Loog free from his bonds. Together, they fought their way through the streets and out of the capital, returning to Faerghus to rally the north against the decadent Empire in rebellion._


	6. Chapter 6

**I** t is said that once Prince Dimitri’s desecrated body was brought to Castle Fraldarius, and Felix Fraldarius found out what had become of his friend, his eyes flashed with anger and his soul was consumed by grief.

In the dead of night, the young duke saddled his horse and left his castle. Under starlit skies and a sickle moon, Felix blazed a smoking trail down the snowy road, heading eastward towards Blaiddyd lands.

Armed with only his trusty sword and a hunting knife, he swam across the castle moat in freezing water, infiltrating Castle Fhirdiad using a secret passage only he and the Crown Prince still knew of. Carefully, he slipped past guards and entered the keep, but alas, Cornelia’s mages caught him before he could exact revenge!

Silently, Felix Fraldarius endured three days of torment at the hands of the witch, but his indomitable spirit did not break! The young duke didn’t speak a single word and he would’ve died a nameless assassin had Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius not marched on Fhirdiad with an army to rescue his son.

The witch Cornelia fled the capital with her snakes, and Lord Rodrigue was hailed as a saviour when he marched through the gates and freed those she had imprisoned in her dungeon.

Felix Fraldarius was found in the highest tower; bloodied, frozen and at death’s door, spared by the old castle steward, who’d secretly slipped him warm blankets and fed him in the middle of the night. When his father and uncle revived him, he was prepared for the worst: To be met with scorn and ridicule for his failure. However, his father embraced him and cried tears of joy and relief. And his cousins and extended family, they praised him as a hero and held a feast in his honour.

For _he_ —Felix the Unyielding—most courageous and most loyal of all House Fraldarius, took it upon himself to avenge his prince alone. He—Felix Hugo Fraldarius—the Prince’s lifelong friend, had ceremoniously severed his hair and solemnly sworn revenge before House Fraldarius had even assessed their loss!


	7. Chapter 7

_When Duke Fraldarius reclaimed control of the capital in House Blaiddyd’s name, Cornelia the Usurper escaped across Faolain River to Western Faerghus, where she rallied the Western Kingdom nobles to take up arms against Lord Rodrigue. She reiterated that House Fraldarius had tried to seize control of the Kingdom since the Tragedy of Duscur and that Prince Dimitri had been under Rodrigue’s control the entire time—it was no fluke that the prince had all Western nobles on his death-list; it was no fluke that Prince Dimitri’s enemies coincided with Duke Fraldarius’s own. And now that his puppet was dead, Rodrigue Fraldarius had dropped all pretences and taken the capital with military force!_

_The civil war began in earnest when the armies of Houses Gideon and Mateus crossed Faolain River, facing the combined might of the Kingdom loyalists led by Baron Renard Dominic and the Knights of Faerghus. The two armies fought to a stalemate on Tailtean Plains, until Count Leopold Charon arrived with his troops and attacked the Gideon-Mateus army from the rear, swinging the battle in the loyalists’ favour and driving Cornelia’s faction back across the river._

_And so, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was split down the middle by Faolain River._

_Those who continued supporting House Blaiddyd, gathered on Twin Stars Hill in the middle of Fraldarius territory, stitching their banners together and ceremoniously swearing to avenge Prince Dimitri and to liberate the Kingdom from the witch and her treacherous ilk._

_Rodrigue Fraldarius began the arduous task of tracking down a royal heir to strengthen their claim—investigating rumours of Grand Duke Rufus’s many hidden children. His son however, prepared to depart on a journey in search for the Lost Prince…_

* * *

 **F** elix finished packing his belongings in his room when the castle steward Jean informed him that a certain Leonie Pinelli had arrived with an invitation from the young lord in her hand.

“Tell her I’ll be there soon,” said Felix, and Jean affirmed the order and headed back to the great hall.

Felix finished dressing himself in his battle gear and then briefly looked at his reflection in the mirror. His hair had been trimmed so that he no longer looked like he’d gone down a path of self-destruction and the fires in his eyes had returned, but there was no beauty to be found in his sallow face. His doublet and cape had been dyed in a blue-green shade and he’d strapped the longsword, which Prince Dimitri had gifted him, under his Sword of Zoltan. Picking up the single black iron spur lying on top of his desk, Felix cast a long look at his brother’s portrait on the wall and drew in a deep breath. Then, he finally picked up the trunk which held his sword collection and then headed downstairs.

Felix gripped the railing as he quietly descended the staircase, his nails scraping the varnished wood when he saw Leonie looking at a painting on the wall and conversing with Cousin Jacques. The cousin was talking up Felix’s exploits: how loyal Felix was to his prince and how he’d bravely ridden to Fhirdiad alone to avenge Dimitri; how he’d silently endured Cornelia’s torture and not divulged a single name.

The words made Felix sick in his soul, for he didn’t brave Cornelia’s snake pit for _revenge_ —he did it to _find and_ _rescue_ his beloved friend! But no one in House Fraldarius would understand—every one of them was so snowed in on vengeance that they couldn’t see the truth.

Ever since he was freed from imprisonment, Felix hadn’t had a single moment of good night sleep. For he and he alone knew that the Prince was still alive. He alone knew that when Duke Fraldarius heaped praise upon his son in that sham of a celebration feast, Prince Dimitri was suffering Cornelia’s wrath in a cage all alone on Caerwyn Isle, wondering if the rest of the world had abandoned him. That somewhere in Western Faerghus, his beloved friend was forced to march towards Enbarr as a prisoner, suffering _all kinds_ of torture along the way and wondering if _Felix_ had abandoned him, believing he was truly a beast who’d murdered his own uncle and sundered the Kingdom with his own two hands.

Arriving at the bottom of the staircase in the great hall, Felix cleared his throat. Jacques jumped to attention and gave Felix a wide smile and a wink, raising his right thumb in an approving gesture. He then excused himself, heading upstairs as he told Leonie to enjoy her stay in the castle.

Felix grimaced. He then turned to Leonie who greeted him with a confident smile. Dressed in a warm travel coat, she enthusiastically waved the roll of parchment in her hand, saying she came to see him as soon his letter arrived.

Felix couldn’t help but crack a faint smile, grateful that she answered his request so quickly. He gave her a nod and then gazed at the painting that had caught Leonie’s eye—a large painting of a red-haired woman astride a brown steed and hunting dogs running alongside the horse. Regal and strong, she was suited up for hunting; bow in hand and her hair wound up in a bun to not get tangled in the bowstring.

“My mother,” said Felix, nodding towards the painting. “Taught me how to shoot a bow and arrow. Those are her trophies on the wall.”

“Oh wow!” said Leonie. “I definitely see the resemblance.” She pointed to his eyes and then traced the shape of his face with her forefingers.

Felix exhaled out a puff of air and scratched the back of his head, touching his shortened raven strands.

“Is she in the castle?” asked Leonie with a grin, seemingly excited to meet the duchess Beatrix.

“She fell off her horse and died when I was seven,” replied Felix.

Leonie averted her eyes and scratched the back of her head with a stilted smile.

“Oh…” she said, seemingly unable to respond. “Um… sorry?”

“It was a long time ago,” said Felix, exhaling a drawn out sigh. “I’m done mourning.”

“You know, most high nobles remarry as soon their spouses die… Your father must have loved her a lot.”

Felix grimaced at the mention of his old man. He shrugged his shoulders and straightened his posture.

“About my request,” he began.

“Right!” said Leonie, reaching into her pocket and digging around. “Tybalt’s in the castle town,” she said, retrieving a small note and handing it over to Felix. “As soon he found out you’re the son of Duke Fraldarius, he wanted to negotiate our price himself.”

Felix read the note, which basically stated that Leonie’s boss wanted to meet him. The handwriting was an elegant script, but the signature was a crude scribble.

“I’ll get my horse,” said Felix.

As they left the great hall and headed into the stable, Leonie suddenly asked him whether he was sure about his decision.

“Excuse me?” said Felix as he grabbed the horse brush and began grooming his grey mare.

“Just want to make sure this isn’t a whim,” said Leonie, gesturing upwards with her hand. “People in the castle town call you a hero, _Felix the Unyielding_.”

Felix cringed at the sound of the terrible moniker and Leonie did not miss his reaction, stifling a laugh but refrained from commenting. She retrieved her own horse from the stable and then waited in silence while Felix finished grooming and saddling his steed. Ever since Jean’s nephew was fired as stable hand the position had remained vacant, which forced Felix to learn how to care for his own horse.

“Let’s go,” said Felix when he finally led his mare out of the stable. They were crossing the courtyard and heading towards the gatehouse when Lord Rodrigue suddenly shouted after his son.

“ _Felix!_ ”

Felix shuddered and froze while Leonie carefully asked if the dark-haired man heading towards them was his father.

“Felix!” said Duke Fraldarius again when the son turned around to face him and Jean. “Jacques just told me you’re leaving on a journey. Where are you going?”

“ _Away_ ,” replied Felix.

“Excuse me?” said Lord Rodrigue.

“What? Am I a prisoner in my own home?”

It was during that damn feast in Fhirdiad when Felix realized he couldn’t tell his father or the rest of the world his true motives of infiltrating Cornelia’s den. He worked so hard to get that information—he nearly died for it! He couldn’t let his bull-headed father or cousins alert Cornelia again and spoil his plan! If tracking down Rufus’s bastards kept them busy, then Felix would let them be until Dimitri had been rescued.

“Are you the girl from Leicester?” asked the father, turning to Leonie.

Felix’s eyes flashed and he stepped in front of his friend before she could even answer the accusing question.

“ _Back off!_ ” snapped Felix. “I don’t know _what_ Jacques told you, but she’s got _nothing_ to do with my decision to leave!”

“My lord Felix—!” began Jean.

“ _Shut up!_ ” retorted Felix, angrily pointing a finger at the baffled steward.

“I _just_ want to know where you are heading,” said Duke Fraldarius with a hopeless sigh. “As your father—”

“My _father_ , _right_ ,” said Felix with a flat and ironic laugh.

“Can’t you at least wait until Dimitri has been laid to rest?” said Lord Rodrigue, staring at his son with a stern look. “The funeral—”

“ _No_! And don’t you _dare_ say his name!” shouted Felix, gripping the bag slung over his shoulder tightly. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to contain his rage, but the old fool saying the Prince’s name was enough to rip his wounds wide open.

“Stop _pretending_ that you care about him _or_ me,” Felix then hissed in a low voice. “You haven’t cared about _either_ of us for a good five years—all you care about is avenging Glenn!”

“ _Felix_ , what are you saying?” said Jean. “You’ve always been the apple of your father’s eye!”

“ _JEAN,”_ shouted Duke Fraldarius, silencing his steward and friend, his stormy eyes never leaving his son’s face as he gave the order: “Go double-check our grain reserves. I think I heard rats last night.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Jean, his voice soft like a whisper as he bowed low and left the courtyard with a defeated look that made Felix almost regret yelling at him. As soon the castle steward’s footsteps died away, Lord Rodrigue spoke again:

“ _Where_ are these accusations coming from, Felix?”

Felix pursed his lips, inhaling and exhaling deeply with his eyes blazing like furnaces. With quick hands, he opened his bag and retrieved a handful of opened letters and angrily tossed them in his father’s face—he was going to burn them once leaving the castle, but now they weren’t his responsibility anymore.

Duke Fraldarius gave him a bewildered look, but then squatted and began gathering the letters up in his hands. Felix inhaled deeply and cast a disdainful look down at the father. It took longer than expected for Duke Fraldarius to recognize his own wax seal. It took even longer for the father to realize that these were the letters he sent to Prince Dimitri in Officers Academy: Letters telling the Prince to research _this_ and look up _that_. Letters encouraging Dimitri’s sick fantasies and telling him he had to bring down those responsible for the Tragedy if Glenn was to rest in peace. Letters Dimitri _never read_ because Felix began intercepting his mail after finding out what _garbage_ his own father had been feeding the Prince throughout the years!

“Where did you get these?” said Lord Rodrigue, his face falling for the second as he stared at the envelopes that bore the Prince’s name. “ _Felix!_ ” he then shouted with a desperate look, waving the letters at the son.

Felix’s lips thinned and curved upwards in a disdainful smile. His eyes narrowed as he observed his father closely, taking in and registering every tiny bit of his reaction: stormy eyes softening as he met Felix’s accusing look; mouth falling open as the important bit of this horrible truth sank in; and then, regretful, he dropped the letters and reached out for his son.

“Felix…” began Lord Rodrigue with a pleading look in his eyes. He grasped Felix’s shoulders. “You must understand—”

“ _No!_ ” snapped Felix, batting his father’s hands away. “I will _never_ understand how your _twisted mind_ works! Isn’t it enough that _Glenn_ is dead? You have to get me and _Dimitri_ killed too?”

“I was trying to—”

“No, you _weren’t_!” shouted Felix, his face scarlet with rage. “ _I_ tried! I tried to _save_ him from _you_! I tried to _fix_ what you had _broken_! But it wasn’t _enough_! I wasn’t strong enough to save him because _you_ — _the prince’s uncle,_ who’s supposed to _guide his steps_ towards becoming a good king _—_ pushed him out on a sick quest for vengeance instead! Do you even _know_ how _sick_ he was in Garreg Mach? How much he was _hurting_? He couldn’t _sleep_ without _light_! He heard _Glenn_ in _my_ voice! He was _crying_ under his desk _all night_! And _I_ —I didn’t—I couldn’t—!”

Felix shook uncontrollably at the painful memories. He’d spent years resenting his father for abandoning him in favour of the Prince, but the truth cut so much deeper. For not only had Duke Fraldarius forgotten his younger son, he had no love for the Prince either; he willingly left Felix to the wolves and pushed Dimitri into a corner in an attempt to avenge Glenn and the late king!

A light spring rain began as the father lowered his head in shame. Felix closed his eyes and then wiped the moisture under his eyes away on his sleeve. He drew in a deep breath and then turned towards Leonie who’d witnessed the entire scene and clearly found the whole situation unsettling.

“Let’s go,” said Felix, beginning to lead his horse towards the gatehouse. “The sooner I sell my swords, the sooner I can pay your boss.”

Felix winced at the sound of his father snivelling and breaking down in tears in the courtyard. Although he couldn’t bring himself to turn around to face his old man one last time, he promised:

“I’ll write.”


	8. Chapter 8

**W** hen Loog and Kyphon returned to the north with the grave news of Emperor Dietfried promising retribution to all his detractors, the lords and ladies of Faerghus decided to cut ties with the decadent Empire. In the autumn 747, they all gathered at Twin Stars Hill, where Countess Agnea von Fraldarius mediated a moot, in which Loog von Blaiddyd was unanimously elected king.

For no single ruler of the north could ever hope to challenge the Empire’s might—only together did Faerghus stand a chance. They would have to stitch their banners together and stand united in the independence war, and they would have to stay together to prevent the Hresvelgs from forcefully reintegrating them into the Empire again in the future.

So, it was decided. So, the deal was struck. In the first light of the sunrise, Loog knelt and took the blood oath, unflinchingly accepting a slash from each of the blades of his most powerful vassals. Before the Goddess, he made the vow. To the morning star above he shouted with fervour, swearing to cut Faerghus free from Imperial rule lest die on the battlefield for a righteous cause!

The nobles of Faerghus draped their banners over his bloodstained tunic and crowned him with flames.

“Hero!” they roared, thrusting their blades into the earth.

“King!” they proclaimed, kneeling at his feet.

And with the dawn he rose, Loog—the King of Lions and Faerghus’s chosen king!


	9. Chapter 9

_In the summer 1181, Cornelia Arnim pledged fealty to the Adrestian Empire, pulling the nobles of Western Faerghus under her banner with promises of power or with the sheer intimidation of the Imperial army._

_From Garreg Mach, Emperor Edelgard launched an attack on House Charon’s territory, and Rodrigue Fraldarius immediately answered Leopold Charon’s request for aid. With Count Charon’s leadership and expertise in mountain warfare and House Fraldarius reinforcing the troops, the Kingdom loyalists successfully warded off the Imperial invasion at Herla Pass. They marched through the mountains and besieged Garreg Mach and unable to efficiently reinforce and supply her troops, the Flame Emperor withdrew her forces from the monastery._

_However, while the Siege of Garreg Mach took place, the imperial faction had crossed Faolain River again and without the support of Houses Charon and Fraldarius, the Knights of Faerghus were defeated. They withdrew to the capital and in wait for help, but Leopold Charon and Rodrigue Fraldarius’s troops were stopped at Faolain River by Cornelia’s Arnim’s armour titans, and Charles-René Gautier’s army did not arrive in time to prevent Fhirdiad’s capture…_

_With the capital once again under her control, Cornelia Arnim declared herself ruler of the Dukedom of Faerghus. She intended to impose harsh punishment on her defeated enemies, but the Adrestian Emperor had no desire to instil further revolts in Faerghus. Edelgard von Hresvelg officially pardoned Baron Dominic and his allies in exchange for them to bend the knee and promised the same for the rest of the Kingdom nobles who agreed to rejoin the Adrestian Empire._

_And with this turn of events, the civil war swung in favour of the imperialists; for a kingdom with no king had no future, and with no royal heir to rally behind, doubts were cast upon Duke Fraldarius and his allies, who seemingly extended the war for no gain…_

* * *

 **M** eanwhile, Felix Fraldarius searched for his prince in Western Faerghus. For when he risked his life braving Cornelia’s den, he uncovered her letters to Lord Arundel of the Adrestian Empire; the treacherous witch had been selling out the Kingdom for years while whispering deceitful words in Grand Duke Rufus’s ear! Emperor Edelgard herself had demanded Prince Dimitri to be handed over to her as a live prisoner for reasons unknown, and Cornelia had executed one of Rufus’s alleged children in his place! The Crown Prince of Faerghus had been imprisoned on Caerwyn Isle east of the Duscur Peninsula all along, and was now being marched towards the lands of Adrestia guarded by Edelgard’s elite soldiers.

With the help of mercenaries, Felix Fraldarius tracked down the platoon escorting his friend:

Prince Dimitri, he was clasped in irons and dragged around like a pet, chained like an animal with a leash around his neck. Weakened from imprisonment and with his spirit broken by the unspeakable things Cornelia’s snakes had subjected him to, he didn’t fight back when the soldiers made him play the role of an animal for their amusement.

Even though Felix wanted to do nothing other than run to his friend and rescue him from his tormentors, the mercenaries were outnumbered and refused to fight the Flame Emperor’s elite troops in the open. So he swallowed his anger and retreated, agreeing to stage an ambush at the river Alesia, which marked the border of House Rowe’s territory from Rhodos Coast.

But the prince and his friend would not be reunited so soon and so easily. For contrary to his own belief, Felix Fraldarius was not the only one who knew Prince Dimitri was still alive. Unbeknownst to the young duke, a band of Duscur vigilantes had stalked the Imperial platoon for days and was preparing an attack as well, and following them was a squad of Faerghus knights.

All parties converged on Teutates Bridge and what was supposed to be a quick ambush became a bloodbath: the masked vigilantes attacked the mercenaries, who fought back while trying to get to the prince; the knights perceived both as bandits and attacked everyone; and everyone was attacking the Imperial soldiers on the middle of the bridge! In the flurry of swords and spears and arrows and magic, a frenzied soldier swung his blade at Prince Dimitri, but one of the vigilantes threw himself in-between the sword and the prince, catching the blow with his back.

It is said that Prince Dimitri froze and gasped out words inaudible at the man of Duscur, who with his last deep breath hoisted the prince over the bridge and dropped him into the stream below.

Felix Fraldarius and his mercenaries immediately abandoned the bridge and pulled back into the woods. But it was already too late—Prince Dimitri had disappeared in the stream of Alesia and was gone from the world…

The knights were annihilated in that battle, and the Duscur vigilantes fled and were never heard of again. Cornelia covered up her fiasco for the emperor, and to the rest of the world, Prince Dimitri remained dead.

But Felix Fraldarius never stopped searching for his friend. The trail of dismembered corpses down the riverbank convinced him his prince had survived and was out for blood. Felix informed his father his findings, and then continued searching down the river until next summer, when a letter from Duke Fraldarius recalled him to Eastern Faerghus with urgent news of Prince Dimitri’s fate.

Although Felix’s association with the mercenaries was strictly a business transaction, his friendship with Leonie was genuine. The day they parted at Faolain River, she presented to him his Zoltan Blade, which he’d previously sold off to pay her boss.

“Why?” said Felix, taken aback.

Leonie simply grasped the charm around her neck—the one Captain Jeralt gave her many years ago.

“I haven’t known you for a long time, Felix,” she said, “but I know this sword means a lot to you.”

“I’ll pay you back,” said Felix with a stern look.

“Good!” Leonie beamed, playfully punching him on the front of his left shoulder. “I expect no less from you, Felix the Unyielding!”

“ _Stop_ calling me that!” said Felix, groaning and cringing all the same.

Leonie laughed at his reaction.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” said Felix as they parted ways.

* * *

Although Cornelia had subdued all regions formerly controlled by House Blaiddyd, few magistrates within the territory truly acknowledged her right to rule regardless of what side they took in the civil war. For unlike Emperor Edelgard, who preferred a peaceful transition of power, Cornelia didn’t care about winning the populace over. She taxed the people to poverty and indiscriminately conscripted unqualified civilians into her army, throwing them at the Kingdom loyalists in the east front. And she crushed every revolt with an iron fist, purging everyone remotely related to the rebels as if her goal was not to suppress uprisings but to eradicate the people. There were even rumours that the demonic beasts that assaulted Margrave Gautier’s territory from Itha were prisoners of war, who’d been turned into monsters against their will. If the Empire ever had any support from the people of Faerghus, Cornelia had certainly crushed it with her reign of terror.

When Felix arrived in the village of Ardghal as his father had instructed, all he found was burnt timber and ashes and a mountain of corpses. Cornelia was once again one step ahead of House Fraldarius; she had ordered the village that sheltered the Lost Prince burnt to the ground and everyone who lived there put on the sword. The survivors of the massacre were huddled in a camp within Fraldarius territory, and the duke himself was out in the field tending to the wounded refugees.

Sylvain and Ingrid were there in the camp as well, helping Gilbert handing out blankets and food. Despite the unpleasant way they had parted, all was forgiven the moment the three friends saw one another again. Due apologies were exchanged and friendship was reaffirmed.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Felix when Ingrid embraced him. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he told Sylvain.

“Hah, I _knew_ you’d come back,” said Sylvain, clasping Felix’s hand. “You always do.” He then put his free hand on top of Felix’s travel hat and playfully rubbed his head, unwittingly revealing Felix’s bald spots when he pulled away the cap.

“Felix!” said Ingrid, worriedly grasping the young duke’s upper arms and holding him in place. “Your hair!” she said, staring at his physical imperfections. “What did you do—?”

Felix twisted himself out of Ingrid’s hold and pulled his hood over his head. He then snatched back his hat from the speechless Sylvain.

“It was a stray fireball,” said Felix. “Where’s my father?” he then rasped, hastily changing the subject.

Ingrid looked to the ground and covered the lower half of her face with a hand. Sylvain seemed in pain too, averting his eyes and then pointing to the tents where Duke Fraldarius and the healers tended to the injured refugees.

Felix nodded and absently kicked the dirt at his feet. He forced out a smile and told his friends they could talk later. Even though his friends nodded and returned his smile, Felix still heard Ingrid and Sylvain sadly whisper how thin he was as soon he started heading towards the tents.

The father just finished healing a wounded villager and turned around to see his son standing there with a judging look. His stormy blue eyes were sunken, and his grey hair had started to show at the roots since he’d neglected to dye it.

Felix drew in a deep breath and held it. He did report to his father regularly enough to make sure his old man didn’t think he was dead in a ditch, but he hadn’t exactly written anything pleasant to him.

“Father,” said Felix.

Duke Fraldarius parted his lips in wonder and a hopeful gasp escaped. He absently raised a hand towards his son, but then withdrew it with a forlorn sigh and averted his lifeless eyes.

“You look terrible,” said Felix, narrowing his eyes at the father in disdain.

“So I do…” murmured Duke Fraldarius.

Felix clenched his teeth and his hands rigidly balled up to fists.

“You’re hopeless,” muttered Felix in a strained voice, sighing deeply and then relaxing his arms. Carefully, he put his travel hat on his father’s head. “Can’t I even trust you to take care of yourself anymore, old man?”

“I’ll do better,” said Lord Rodrigue with a rueful smile.

When the light in the father’s eyes began returning, Felix inhaled deeply and folded his arms over his chest.

“Where is he?” he spat out. “You said you had hard evidence Dimitri was in Ardghal.”

The father soundlessly gestured towards the large tent behind him. And for a brief moment, Felix dared to hope. But then he lifted the flap and a terrified shriek burst from within the tent; that voice certainly didn’t belong to Dimitri. Felix stepped in to the tent and fixed his gaze on the only person inside—a frightened young man sat curled up under a blanket in a corner:

His frame was slight; he seemed shorter than average man and his facial features were soft. His eyes were amber, and his long hair was of the darkest shade of brown. Felix slowly approached the refugee in half curiosity and half dread.

“I didn’t mean to, please, I didn’t mean to…” he whimpered under his blanket. “Don’t kill me… Please, don’t kill me…”

“Hey,” began Felix, but the frightened man shuddered and murmured a string of pleas.

“Hey…” Felix tried again, in a softer and more careful tone. “Who are you?” He gently tugged at the blanket, and the young man screamed, throwing his hands on top of his head.

“Alistair!” he said, terrified. “My name is _Alistair!_ ” The sleeves of his shirt slid down to his elbows, revealing very dark bruises on his wrists and arms. Felix recognized the work of the beast—he himself had had such bruises on his wrists for weeks after Dimitri restrained him in a duel at Garreg Mach.

“Where is the Prince?” he said, grabbing Alistair’s nearest arm. “Where’s the man who gave you _these_?” But the young refugee only screamed and begged Felix to let him go—repeatedly saying he didn’t know anything.

And seeing that he clearly wouldn’t get any answers from this frightened hare, Felix left the man alone and exited the tent.

“Who the hell was that?” Felix asked his father, who stood waiting outside with Sylvain and Ingrid.

“An Imperial soldier,” replied Ingrid, looking into Felix’s eyes with a beckoning gaze. “Cornelia sent troops to purge the village. His Highness wiped out the entire platoon while the villagers escaped, sparing only _him_.”

“He’s too unstable to be properly interrogated,” said Sylvain. “But from what we could gather, Dimitri ran away after that guy stabbed him in the face.”

Felix drew in a short breath and his heart sank like a stone in the ocean.

“Felix,” began the father.

“I’m not Felix!” Alistair suddenly cried from within the tent. “I’m not your Felix! Let me go… Let me go! I’ll stab you! I’ll stab you again! I’ll cut out your other eye!”

Felix inhaled deeply and his eyes grew tall. Memories came flooding back; the painful memories and missed opportunities in Garreg Mach, the terrifying beast and the Prince’s declaration of love at Avalon Hill, the days in Castle Fhirdiad during Rufus’s regency, and the promises on the hill…

And then Felix ran. He darted past his father and friends and returned to his horse. He didn’t hear his father call for him as he rode away from the refugee camp. He didn’t hear Sylvain shouting after him while following on his own steed, or the wings of Ingrid’s pegasus swishing in the wind. He didn’t stop until he arrived at the lone hill with the tree where he and the young prince made a promise once upon a time.

And there, at the roots of the oak, a garland of bluebells and daisies lay.

“Is that—?” said Sylvain in wonder, as Felix picked up the wreath.

“Was he here?” Ingrid whispered, as Felix crushed the wildflowers in an iron grip.

He threw the garland on the grass and spun around, stepping out of the shade of the tree and unsheathing the longsword Dimitri had gifted him. With his heart heavy, he pointed his blade across the plains. And with his voice quivering, he swore the oath. To find the Prince if it was the last thing he’d do; to bring him back as sure as his name was _Felix Hugo Fraldarius_. And to free their people from that witch Cornelia and restore their Kingdom. For he was Felix Fraldarius, Prince Dimitri’s dearest friend!


	10. Chapter 10

_The night was a shroud of darkness_

_Pierced by the moon and stars_

_At the lone hill they stood gathered_

_Fearless easterling knights_

_The young duke stood among them_

_His eyes like embers bright_

_He held in his hands a garland_

_Bluebells, daisies weaved tight_

_* * *_

**A** fter the rumours of Prince Dimitri survival began spreading, a group of young knights appeared in the Dukedom of Faerghus and raided from camp to camp, disrupting Imperial occupation and preventing Cornelia from collecting the taxes she’d extorted from nobles and commoners alike.

These courageous riders were soon identified as members of House Fraldarius, who in search for the Lost Prince refused to yield to neither hardship nor the will of fate—their defiance against the Empire and Cornelia’s reign of terror was only rivalled by the Outlaws of Mount Oghma!

Try as she might, Cornelia was no match for Jacques Fraldarius, who carefully planned each raid and found ways around the witch’s defences with his cunning wit.

Try as she might, Cornelia was no match for Yvette Fraldarius, who deftly struck from the shadows and robbed the imperialists blind while her cousins attacked the enemy head on.

And no matter what Cornelia did, she could not deter Felix Fraldarius, who feared neither armour titans nor demonic beasts and spearheaded every assault with his mighty sword, hoping to draw the Lost Prince out with his name and heroic deeds.

It is said that Felix’s arrow would fly into the impoverished villages with his message attached, informing the villagers were to meet. And there, House Fraldarius would return to the people of Faerghus what was never the Empire’s right to take. Their spirits, bright and unyielding, became beacons of hope for the people in the Kingdom’s darkest days. And when Cornelia began arresting anyone mentioning their house or their names, the common folk dubbed them the Wild Swans after the graceful birds emblazoned on their shields.

* * *

_An ardent fire_

_That never dies_

_From east to west and west to east_

_He searched for the Lost Prince_

_Five long years_

_Yet no one hears_

_Felix Fraldarius_

_Ever lose hope_

* * *

Although Felix’s Fraldarius’s notoriety in the Dukedom reached the point where the mention of his name could spell doom upon the speaker, Prince Dimitri never came seeking him or anyone else who still supported his claim to the throne. Tracking the Lost Prince was a fruitless endeavour as he would appear and kill Imperial commanders and then vanish, leaving only the corpses of his enemies behind. There was no sense of direction for where the prince was heading and he would attack camps that the Wild Swans had recently raided, too, so trying to predict his next appearance was an equal waste of effort.

Yet, Felix Fraldarius never lost hope. Every midsummer he would return to that lone hill near Ardghal Village and wait. He would wait from sunrise to sundown. He would wait past midnight and until the next dawn… There, Felix Fraldarius would wait for his beloved friend who would never show.

* * *

_He’d cut his hair in the moonlight_

_The stars all knew his grief_

_They’d told him his friend had perished;_

_Was drowned in waters deep_

_Yet the prince was in the village_

_Missing his dearest still_

_And he left behind a present_

_Wildflowers on the hill_

* * *

Even though his journey and exploits never brought him any closer to finding his prince, Felix knew that as long as he stayed true to himself, there was nothing he needed to fear.

Felix was no knight; he never swore his life to the Crown and he was no pious man by any means. But he had a reason to fight and he was and had always been a Fraldarius at heart. And like the leopard that couldn’t change its spots, Felix Fraldarius could not stray from his path.

From the day he was born he shared a cradle with the Prince and was swept in Blaiddyd blue. The day he took his first steps—on Castle Fhridiad’s stone flooring—the Prince had held his hand. From the day he learnt to spell his own name, he knew that his place was at Dimitri’s side; as a courtier or as a knight, it didn’t matter; as long as he could be with Dimitri, he would be fulfilled.

He was Felix Fraldarius—born and raised alongside the Prince. He was Felix Hugo Fraldarius, the Prince’s best friend and loyal companion. And whenever Felix began to doubt, he’d take out the sword the Prince had gifted him and gaze upon his reflection in the blade and remember; that he was _Felix Fraldarius_ —the Prince’s dearest, most precious friend. That sword—that _mirror_ —he’d never let it go; for with bloodshed being his only talent, he’d seen in the boar prince’s bloodcrazed look where he’d end up should he ever lose sight of his goal.

* * *

_Silver swans_

_On green shields_

_From east to west and west to east_

_They searched for the Lost Prince_

_Five long years_

_Yet no one hears_

_The Wild Swans_

_Ever lose hope_


	11. Chapter 11

_The Wild Swans of Fraldarius continued to pillage Cornelia’s allies for more than three years while searching for the Lost Prince. Yet, despite their valiant efforts sabotaging the Flame Emperor’s authority, the Kingdom loyalists were losing the war of attrition; the grain reserves would only last for one more winter—they would have to make a stand against Cornelia the next autumn or win the war before that._

_In the middle of Ethereal Moon 1185, Felix Fraldarius was recalled to the duchy and instructed to investigate a rumour from House Charon’s southern border: The Lost Prince had been sighted fending off Imperial invaders at Herla Pass. It was said that the prince was killed while chasing down stragglers beyond the mountain pass and that the Imperial soldiers cut off his head and put it on display on a spike. The young duke rode to the mountains to see the severed head himself, but it was mounted so high up the mountain wall that he couldn’t make out whose head it truly was._

_Yet, as the snow began to fall, Felix began wondering if he could still justify continue looking for a person who didn’t want to be found._

_Returning to Lord Leopold’s warcamp, he was greeted by Sylvain Gautier and Ingrid Galatea, who’d also come to assess their loss. The childhood friends gathered to drink and reminisce the old days, although the conversation immediately shifted towards the grave news from House Galatea’s spies: Despite House Riegan’s claims of opposing the Flame Emperor’s advances, it was just a front: The Empire had bought out half of the Leicester nobles, and the Alliance was on the verge of collapse. A united Fódlan governed under Emperor Edelgard's rule of law seemed imminent at this point._

_But despite the doom and gloom, three friends would remember a promise they made in Officers Academy five years ago, and it was to Garreg Mach they would ride guided by the little hope that remained…_

* * *

 **T** hey found him. After five years, they finally found the Lost Prince. Dimitri _did_ show up at the monastery at Garreg Mach—but not because he remembered his promise; he was chasing down Imperial soldiers fleeing Charon territory and had ended up stuck here when heavy snowfall blocked his path!

Felix had little hope of finding anything in Garreg Mach; if the Lost Prince couldn’t remember the promise he gave Felix when he still cared about becoming a good king, there was no reason to think he’d remember a promise he made offhandedly in Garreg Mach while consumed by vengeance. Yet, when Felix recognized Dimitri and the Professor’s voices in the monastery, his heart _soared_. And with renewed resolve, he fought his way back to his prince’s side. Despite all, Felix dared to hope. He dared to hope that whatever was left of the Prince could still be salvaged. He _had_ to be salvageable—otherwise _everything_ would’ve been for naught! But the broken man Felix found at the monastery was yet more evidence that _if_ the Goddess truly was out there watching over the world, she was a cruel mistress who was adamant in keeping Dimitri’s misery intact.

The haggard man that was supposedly Faerghus’s fair prince looked like an outlaw knight—and _not_ the _good_ kind at that. A patch of cloth covered his missing right eye and his remaining one, once blue and beautiful like the winter sky, was bloodshot and had no lustre. Yet, despite all that, he kept his face and hair clean. The fallen prince was clad in a suit of black plate armour, and his cloak was a tattered Blaiddyd banner with a wolf-skin mantle keeping his shoulders warm. There was no denying it: he looked like _Glenn_ —or was trying to look like him; that black cuirass with the blue star representing Blaiddyd was forged for the Royal Knights— _Glenn and his companions_ wore the same armour when they rode to Duscur! Was this the boar prince’s sick way of honouring his departed friend?

Unable to turn away from this disaster of a human being, Felix kept vigil and watched over that _creature_ ; he shadowed the fallen prince without ever saying a word, watching him from a safe distance behind a pillar in the cathedral; both fascinated and disgusted with what had become of his dearest, most precious friend. But most of all, he worried what Dimitri might do to himself or to others if left to his own devices.

Felix saw in Dimitri’s restless eye that he abhorred the presence of the other Blue Lions. The fallen prince refused interaction with other people and kept for himself in the cathedral. Dimitri ate twice a day: once in the morning and once at night when everyone else had gone to sleep. He’d wait until deep night and head into the kitchen to eat whatever leftovers he could find, putting the morsels in his mouth and licking his dirty fingers clean. He’d wrap himself in his furs and cloak and sleep in the alcove of the Saints or on a random church bench until the first light of dawn, at which he’d rise to go wash himself in the pond and then scavenge for food again. And then, he’d return to the cathedral to sulk or court his ghosts, ignoring or verbally abusing whichever fool who tried to offer the Lost Prince help.

When Ashe and Mercedes heard of Dimitri’s reluctance to eat with everyone else, they began leaving full meals for him after dinner. And Dimitri, he gorged it all the same; whatever haunted the fallen prince seemingly also refused to let him die—he was surprisingly healthy and strong for having been a vagrant all these years.

When Sylvain heard his old friend was further isolating himself, he went against better judgement and decided to persistently nag Dimitri to have lunch with him in the dining hall.

“Come on, Your Highness,” he said, trying and failing to smile while Dimitri coldly rebuffed his advances and told him to leave, “we haven’t seen in five years. Surely, you have stories to share with us over the table!” And then he reached out and put his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and the boar prince lashed out, rapidly whirling around and slugging Sylvain in the face and knocking him off his feet.

“ _Sylvain!_ ”

Felix immediately darted in front of his friend with his Sword of Zoltan drawn, pointing the tip at the fallen prince. As sick as the Boar had been back in the academy, he had _never_ struck his friends in vitriol. Yet, for a second, Felix thought he saw Dimitri’s single eye light up in shock. But then the boar prince turned his back towards him without a word, not caring that Felix could easily run him through from behind. And in that moment, Felix questioned what these lost years had been for. _This_ was the Lost Prince of Faerghus! This was the Kingdom’s last hope! For _five_ _years_ , Felix had fought against Cornelia in Prince Dimitri’s name. For _five long years_ , he’d looked for his prince. And _this_ was his reward for all that trouble.

* * *

That night, when Felix returned from his visit to the latrine, he witnessed the boar prince pick up his lance and lumber out of the cathedral, moaning to his ghosts and imploring them to be patient. That night, the delusional prince made his way all across the monastery, heading past the dormitory, the dining hall, the greenhouse and the pond. When they arrived at the abandoned marketplace, Felix’s heart jumped in alarm, realizing that the beast was heading towards _the gate_.

“Where are you going?” said Felix from the steps of the monastery’s entrance hall, finally speaking to the Boar for the first time in five years.

“Rat hunting,” rasped the fallen prince with his back still turned towards the person he once called his dearest friend.

“You’re not hunting _anything_ until you get your act together,” said Felix, steadily pacing out of the entrance hall of the monastery and approaching the boar prince. He reached out with his hand and grabbed the fallen prince’s shoulder, causing the Boar to whirl around in alarm. As Felix saw the beast reflexively raise his hand, he dodged the punch and grasped the hilt of his Zoltan blade.

The beast then turned away and squinted at a pile of rubble in the marketplace, his lips moving without sound. He turned towards the gate, putting his lance away and grasping the portcullis with both hands and raising it with his inhuman strength.

“Don’t you _dare_!” said Felix. His eyes flashed and his Sword of Zoltan flew from its sheath, and with a swish in the wind he aimed a strike at the boar prince’s hand.

The portcullis fell and slammed into the ground with a loud _Bang!_ as Dimitri dodged the strike and predictably swung his fists at Felix, who skilfully manoeuvred around the beast with sweeping strides and summoned the power of his Crest. Felix’s blade gleamed in the moonlight and delivered a cut to Dimitri’s thigh—slicing through armour and cloth and hamstringing his leg.

The boar prince roared in pain and fell to the ground, his blood colouring the newfallen snow dark red, and his bloodcurdling scream echoing through the old marketplace in the dead of night.

Felix stood still clutching his bloodstained blade, having put a safe distance between him and the Boar who screamed and dangerously flailed his arms. At loss, Felix didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t approach that creature and heal him the way he was right now, and if he left him here on his own he’d bleed out and die.

The beast then suddenly ceased his flailing and screaming and instead began to weep.

“No… _no!_ ” moaned the fallen prince, covering his ears with his hands. “You’re _wrong_ …” he cried. “Father, Glenn! I’m ever so loyal to you! Stepmother, Dedue! I _will_ bring you her head! I _swear_!” He turned over on his stomach and painfully propped himself up on his elbows and knees. He mumbled something for himself and then crawled up to the closed gate.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hissed Felix, and forgetting how dangerous that creature was, he approached and grasped the delusional prince’s wrist, uselessly trying to pry his grip from the portcullis. And then the beast punched him; even though the Boar had only sloppily batted with his hand, the Felix doubled over when he was hit in the stomach. He gritted his teeth as the beast lifted the gate over his head, stubbornly trying to leave the monastery at any price.

“ _Boar,_ ” Felix wheezed, right before Dimitri recklessly threw the gate upwards. He instantly lunged at the delusional prince and pushed him out of harm’s way as the portcullis came crashing down, narrowly missing them both with the sharp spikes at its bottom end.

“ _Enough_ already!” shouted Felix. “ _Here_ , let me heal you!” he said, offering Dimitri a healing concoction. “We’ll discuss things tomorrow when the Knights of Seiros arrive!”

“Felix…” Dimitri then whispered, his voice a pathetic cry.

Felix winced as he watched Dimitri’s glazed eye stare ahead and past him. The fallen prince propped himself up on his elbows and once again crawled towards the gate, gripping the portcullis and bending the steel. He pathetically reached through the bars with one hand, trying to reach for something nonexistent beyond the gate.

“ _Felix!_ ” he wailed. “Don’t leave…” he whispered, desperate while pulling himself up on his knees. “Felix, please—!”

“I’m _right here,_ you deranged beast!” Felix shouted at the delusional prince. He uncapped the healing potion and then gripped Dimitri’s fur mantle and turned him around, wrapping a gloved hand around his chin and turning his head to force the fallen prince to look him in the eyes. “I’m _here_ ,” said Felix through gritted teeth as he pressed the opening of the glass vial to Dimitri’s lips. “Now _drink_ before you bleed out, you _damn boar_!”

The fallen prince whined helplessly as Felix tilted his head upwards. He coughed when Felix poured the concoction in his mouth, spilling perhaps half of it on his chin and on Felix’s hand.

“ _Glenn_ …” the delusional prince then whispered, his voice timid in fright.

Felix froze. His grip around Dimitri’s chin immediately loosened and the glass vial fell to the snow. He shoved the beast away, his heart beating so loudly that he didn’t hear the fallen prince cry. He swept up his sword from the ground and stumbled up on his feet. He tried to flee the scene, but the delusional prince latched his arms around his leg.

“ _Glenn!_ I’m sorry, Glenn… Please, forgive me! I won’t forget my task!”

Felix cringed and raised his sword, his hand shaking in both rage and terror. Dimitri looked up at him with wonder and then his single eye closed, letting a stream of tears trace a path down his frozen cheek. There was a smile on his lips—a peaceful one. And Felix let out a scream, clubbing Dimitri’s head with the pommel of his sword and knocking the delusional prince out cold as Gilbert and the Professor arrived to the scene.

* * *

The Knights of Seiros—or the Outlaws of Mount Oghma, as they’d been calling themselves after losing the Archbishop and the monastery—had answered Gilberts request and returned to Garreg Mach immediately, and with them followed an Imperial vanguard that had been tracking them. The general in charge mounted an attack from the foot of the hill. It was his lucky day; with so many important people gathered in the monastery he could destroy both the Kingdom and the Church in one battle!

Vastly outnumbered by the Imperial forces, Gilbert and Seteth cobbled together a plan to repel the enemy using fire, asking for volunteers to set up the trap at the orchard toolshed. It was a dangerous mission; the group would be isolated and it would be difficult to send backup if something went awry. Felix was the first to stand up for the task, his eyes never leaving the delusional prince as he volunteered. But the Boar, he didn’t even offer Felix a glance and just continued to mumble to his ghosts.

As soon the warhorns blared, the fallen prince rushed towards the Imperial troops. Felix drew in a deep breath and steeled himself for his mission when Sylvain lowered his visor and rode into the fray with Ashe and the Knights of Seiros. He said a meaningless prayer when Ingrid and Seteth took to the sky with the Seiros Fliers. And as Mercedes and Flayn cast blessings and warding spells on the special task group and Annette offered him encouraging words, he promised:

“I won’t fail.”

And then he set out with Leonie and the Professor, heading eastward to the orchard, running as if his life depended on it and forging ahead while Imperial soldiers bombarded the monastery with catapults and other siege weapons. Even though Felix reached the shack and executed the plan in time, he and Leonie were injured by shrapnel and the Professor remained in the orchard toolshed to tend to their wounds.

As result, they didn’t witness the boar prince lose his mind in the battle. Ingrid later told him Dimitri didn’t retreat when Gilbert and Seteth signalled the incoming fire attack. Sylvain said Dimitri spooked his horse and then charged straight through the flames, cutting down every soldier in sight. He didn’t stop until he’d decapitated the Imperial commander and mounted the head on a spike at the road to the monastery.

In that moment, Felix clamped a hand over his chest where his broken heart lay buried. Painfully, he swallowed his pride and asked the only person who could possibly save the Lost Prince for help. Dimitri trusted the Professor once upon a time. _They_ found Dimitri here among the rats in the monastery. _Clearly_ , they could save him!

But the Professor saw the delusional prince for the lost cause he was and said that there was little they could do to help.

“Don’t just give up like that!” Felix scolded his teacher, desperate and lost. He’d hitched his wagon to Dimitri; he’d been fighting an uphill battle in his name for five years! He couldn’t just watch their only hope of fighting back against Cornelia slip away—he couldn’t watch _his friend_ spiral down into an abyss and drag the rest of the Kingdom down with him!

But the Professor placed a warm hand on Felix’s shoulder and gazed into his fiery eyes with a stern look, saying that one could not help a person that didn’t want to be helped.

And with that, the Professor was gone. Felix had his duties and so did his old teacher; the Archbishop had entrusted them with the Church of Seiros and unlike the boar prince they intended to lead and take care of their people. The Church and the Kingdom shared a common foe, so naturally they would stay allied to defeat the Empire. Yet, the Professor’s words cut deep.

For deep down, Felix knew his old teacher wasn’t wrong; the Boar wasn’t even fit to be in civilisation, less fit to be the king of a nation! Yet, Felix had to hope. He had to hope that _someone_ in these blasted ruins could salvage the beast and save the Lost Prince. For what other choice did Felix truly have? Should he give up and return to the duchy, telling his father everything had been for naught? Should he tell his father to surrender to Cornelia and allow her to rob and violate the people under House Fraldarius’s protection?— _Cornelia the Usurper_ , who with a reign of terror had smashed _all_ goodwill the people of Faerghus ever had for the Empire?

* * *

Felix didn’t know what he expected when he wrote to his father asking for troops. But he certainly didn’t anticipate _Faerghus’s Shield_ to leave his people to go on an ill-advised invasion campaign with the boar prince! Out of everything Duke Fraldarius did wrong, Felix expected him to do _one_ thing right: to defend the people in his lands like the shield he was supposed to be! Yes, Uncle André was an excellent administrator and he was competent when it came to military tactics, but what would the people of the duchy think of _Faerghus’s Shield_ abandoning the homefront?

The Boar wasn’t even repentant for the trouble he’d caused, thinking of nothing but how to offer Edelgard’s head to his ghostly tormentors. The Lost Prince had been like this for more than two damn months, and no one had lifted a finger to pull the deranged beast out of the abyss—not even Rodrigue Fraldarius, who put all his eggs in a broken basket and didn’t even plan to mend it!

The night before departing on the campaign, Lord Rodrigue arranged a feast in the dining hall. When the father was drinking with the Knights of Seiros and fraternizing with the rest of the Blue Lions, Felix sat in a corner and ate silently. When Cousin Jacques tried to wave him over to the table where the rest of their old warband sat, Felix ignored him. And when Sylvain came over to his table and gestured towards Yvette, saying his pretty cousin wondered why he was sitting here all alone, Felix slammed his fist against the table.

“She’s a mourning widow with a six year old child!” snapped Felix, embarrassing his cousin and causing the rest of the room to curiously glance their way.

Sylvain defensively waved his palms to the other tables and flashed a cheery smile, telling everyone to carry on drinking.

“Calm down, Felix,” said Sylvain as the merriment resumed. “Your folks are worried about you, you know? You’ve been sitting here shooting daggers at your father all evening.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” said Felix, turning his head away. He was so used to his friend being a hedonist lout that the thought of Sylvain having cleaned up his act during the years he spent at the warfront was still foreign to him. “I’ll take a walk,” said Felix, standing up from his chair, “to clear my mind.”

Sylvain knew better than to follow him, but as Felix stepped out of the building, he spoke the following advice:

“Felix, we’re marching east tomorrow. So, don’t overthink things.”

Without turning around to face the friend, Felix nodded and dragged his feet away from the dining hall. Still hearing the merriment from the building, his eyes briefly lingered on the spot where he and the Prince duelled for the first time in the beginning of their academy years. He pursed his lips and slid his hand into his pocket, gripping the black iron spur he’d kept throughout all these years. As he passed the garden and the gazebo and reached the Officers Academy itself, he stopped to gaze at the frayed twin banners hanging outside his old classroom—deep blue banners emblazoned with a griffon knight.

“For the realm,” said Felix, speaking House Blaiddyd’s motto with a sardonic smile.

How could the rest of his family and friends be so eager to abandon the Kingdom and invade the Empire on the orders of the delusional prince? Even if they killed the Flame Emperor the war wouldn’t just magically end. They’d still have to fight tooth and nail to reclaim the Kingdom from Cornelia’s clutches. The Boar was only piling up more corpses in the name of the dead!

Felix hadn’t intended to visit the fallen prince, but he came across Dimitri leading a pigtailed young girl by the hand, walking her back to the orphans’ quarters and not leaving until she’d shown herself back indoors. As soon the door closed, however, he began murmuring to his ghosts again.

“It is inconsequential,” said the boar prince, “I know what needs to be done.”

Felix watched the Lost Prince from a distance and slowly followed him back to the cathedral. The Boar was wearing a king’s war regalia now but he still grovelled at the feet of his ghosts. Maybe Duke Fraldarius gave Dimitri the King of Lion’s battle gear to remind him of his duty; or perhaps the father simply couldn’t stand seeing the beast dressed up like his deceased son!

As they crossed the bridge to the cathedral and a cold night breeze ruffled Felix’s hair, a joyless smile briefly tugged up the corners of his lips. When the father raised his voice and scolded the boar prince at Ailell, Felix had dared to hope. He’d dared to hope that his own father would do something about the boar prince’s nonsensical plan to invade the Empire with such a small army. But no, after all these years, Duke Fraldarius was still the incorrigible yes-man Glenn had berated him for being!

Felix inhaled deeply and then exhaled, his breath creating mist in the cold air of the cathedral as he glared at the beast who’d laid down on a church bench in the front rows. And clenching his fists, Felix took a step towards the Boar even though his own heart immediately started to hammer in protest.

I’m not a coward, Felix inwardly told himself, painfully dragging his feet towards the beast.

That man might be wearing a king’s regalia and holding House Blaiddyd’s relic glaive, but he certainly was no king. A true king wouldn’t abandon his people in times of need. A true king wouldn’t surrender his soul to a bunch of ghosts! Felix kept putting one foot before the other until he was standing right in front of the Boar and glaring down at the monster with a gaze of contempt.

Finally noticing his presence, the beast cracked his good eye open.

“Go away,” said the Boar flatly, his voice lacking any warmth at all.

Felix gritted his teeth. It was a lost cause. Yet… he had to _try_.

“Get up,” said Felix. “Get up before someone else finds you here hiding like a rat. There are free beds at the dorm and even the tents in the camp are better than these ruins.”

The beast ignored him as he’d done all the days before—even when Felix was standing right in front of him, he wished to pretend he wasn’t there. Meanwhile, he gladly communicated with the ghost he created in Felix’s image, begging it to stay and comfort him every other night in these blasted ruins.

“ _Get up!_ ” Felix shouted. “If you’re going to dress like the King of Faerghus then start _acting_ like one! The fools in the monastery think you’re actually our king, but all _I_ see is the same monster who knows nothing but bloodshed and revenge!”

When the Boar continued to ignore him, Felix backhanded the fallen prince in the head. He could barely register his action before the beast’s single blue eye flashed and then the Boar retaliated and punched Felix in the middle, sending him stumbling backwards in pain. A gauntleted hand, cruel and cold, suddenly wrapped around the bottom of Felix’s face with a force strong enough to crush his jaw. Immediately, Felix was pushed back, following his captor’s wordless command and stepping backwards until he slammed his back into the stone pillar he used to stand behind while peering at the beast.

He threw a punch at his captor, but the Boar easily evaded the blow and caught his wrist, clenching down so hard that Felix wondered if his bones would snap. Felix couldn’t hear his thoughts over the beating of his own heart. In the moonlight, he stared into a pale blue eye and searched for his kind-hearted prince, but only a bloodthirsty beast stared back. His vision blurred, and tears stung his eyes and nose. He let out a cry—a pathetic sob. For a second, he thought he felt the tight grip around his jaw loosen and he believed he saw his beloved Dimitri looking back at him through the mist. And yet, Felix knew well that this was the imaginations of a man who dearly missed his precious friend.

His left hand searched at his belt and grasped the handle of a sword. He tried to draw it but Dimitri released his face and grasped his other wrist, trapping the blade in its scabbard. As the boar prince was focused on restraining his hands, Felix swiftly kicked him in-between his legs, causing the beast to recoil in pain. Freed from the claws of the monster, Felix unsheathed his sword and as soon the Boar looked his way, he tilted the blade and blinded him with the moonlight coming down through the broken dome above, following up with a pommel strike on the chin and sending the beast to the floor with a clatter of steel.

When the Boar came to a few seconds later, Felix slammed his right foot on the delusional prince’s chest and pointed his longsword at the beast’s throat, exposing the inscription on the blade:

DIMITRI

“Remember _this_?” he said, his voice hoarse as ardent flames burned his innards and seared his soul. “Remember what you _said_?”

The delusional prince defiantly turned his face away, his lips closed tightly and his eyebrows creased in contempt.

“Felix Fraldarius, my best friend,” said Felix, every word a cut to his own heart, “if you ever doubt or forget who you are, I’ll remind you. I’ll remind you that you are _Felix Fraldarius_ , my dearest most precious friend.”

“ _Shut up_!” shouted the boar prince—Was he annoyed? Angry? _Hurt_?

The beast swiped his hand and batted the blade away from his face. He sat up on his haunches and easily pushed Felix’s foot off his chest, sending the young duke stumbling back. In hindsight, Felix realized how reckless he’d been acting—the Boar could’ve torn his leg off. But he was so angry. He missed his friend and this _thing_ that _still_ vaguely reminded him of Prince Dimitri was now planning to throw his life away and take the Blue Lions and the rest of House Fraldarius with him!

“All that talk about loyalty and betrayal,” hissed Felix, “and yet here you are—a prince who turned his back on his own people, and a friend who betrayed another friend!”

Dimitri remained silent, his gaze downcast at the moonlit floor.

“ _Five years_ ,” said Felix. “I spent _five_ _years_ searching for you! Even after seeing all the dead bodies you left in Western Faerghus, I _still_ searched for you!”

“Do you regret not joining Edelgard and her dogs now that you’ve seen what I’ve become?” said the fallen prince, his lips drawn up in a faint, ironic smile.

Felix inhaled a deep breath, his face scarlet with rage and his fiery gaze never leaving the Boar.

How _dare_ he!

“ _Perhaps!_ ” shouted Felix defiantly, willing his tears not to fall. He couldn’t tell whether he spoke an intentionally hurtful lie or a half-truth. But this bastard just accused him of treason— _he_ , who nearly was tortured to death by Cornelia’s minions and who’d spent five long years looking for the Lost Prince! _He_ , who’d foolishly returned to that hill at Ardghal Village every year and waited for his prince’s return like a lovesick pup!

“Do you remember your promise to me?” said Felix, his voice strained and his posture rigid, but his tone lacking the ire it carried before. One more try, he thought. One more attempt and then he’d let his shattered heart die. “‘I’m so grateful to have you at my side. I will be a king worthy of your devotion.’ _You_ said that, nine years ago on the hill. Did you forget?”

“‘I will be your knight and find my way back to you _,’_ ” Dimitri cruelly spat back—unfeeling, _cold_. “‘I will always love and protect you.’ That’s what _you_ said.” Then, he raised his head and met Felix’s gaze with an accusing eye. “We’re both chasing ghosts, are we not?” said the delusional prince with a snide smile. “Your prince died in Duscur, and my beloved Felix never returned from the Battle of Avalon Hill.”

Felix shook at the sound of those words and he whirled around, kicking over the nearest church bench in rage. As he ran out of the cathedral, he heard the Boar laugh softly and cruelly twist the knife he’d plunged into the heart of the friend he once claimed to adore and love.

Once back in his room in the dormitory, Felix lifted his sword and gazed at his own reflection in the blade.

That bruised warrior was not the Prince’s beloved friend. The Prince’s dearest friend was forever young and sweet and beautiful while this ugly dishevelled man in front of him began losing his hair before the age of twenty! The Prince’s beloved friend was as stern as he was kind—a light in the darkest of nights. He was the Prince’s protector and friend, his lifelong companion and the love of his life. The young swordsman before him was as cowardly as he was cruel—another dark cloud that blotted out the sun. He could never reach the Lost Prince—because Felix Fraldarius, whom the Prince loved dearly and loved still, died in the Western Rebellion, and it was _his_ ghost the Prince courted every other night.

Felix pulled out the black iron spur from his pocket and gazed upon it in the moonlight. All this time he thought it was _Glenn’s_ ghost he had to defeat, but he wasn’t even worthy to _attempt_ that duel! He angrily threw the spur away, only for it to bounce back against the wall and hit him in the head. Come tomorrow, Felix would comb his fringe down to cover the right side of his forehead to hide the scar.

*** * ***

_In spring 1186, the combined forces of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Church of Seiros marched on the Adrestian Empire with the intent to remove Emperor Edelgard from her seat of power and end the war once and for all. With the Leicester Alliance internally split, Rodrigue Fraldarius contacted House Riegan, who staunchly opposed the Empire; proposing a coordinated attack on the Great Bridge of Myrddin, which was the Empire’s primary way to access Alliance territory across the Airmid River._

_Duke Claude von Riegan baited House Gloucester’s main army northward into a skirmish at the Hills of Ronan, allowing the Kingdom and Church army to pass through Gloucester territory unhindered. While the Kingdom army attacked the Imperial troops on the Great Bridge, Felix Fraldarius and the Wild Swans were dispatched alongside the Knights of Seiros to take out the armed forces at the fortified isle to the north. There, they captured Count Gloucester’s heir Lorenz, and with him as their hostage, House Gloucester—the Alliance’s biggest threat was removed from the war. With the Great Bridge of Myrddin secured, the Kingdom and the Church prepared to march on to Imperial territory and into Gronder Field._


	12. Chapter 12

_Sword and Shield!_

_On Gronder Field!_

*** * ***

**T** he evening sky was awash with red and purple shades as the sun gilded the fields of Gronder in the autumn breeze. Standing at the outskirts of the warcamp, King Loog and Pan held out their wooden cups, letting Kyphon messily pour the wine.

“Drink!” said Kyphon, the wind catching his long raven hair.

“ _Drink!_ ” shouted the king and his dearest friend in response.

The men drank as the wind snatched the last red leaves from the tree branches.

“The battle begins tomorrow and no one can foretell the outcome of war!” said Kyphon, emerald eyes shimmering while he addressed his friends. “I, Erwann von Fraldarius, have met no better men than the two of you!” He then unsheathed his magic sword with a puff of wind, extending it towards the fields while raising his voice: “Let us bind our fates together in an oath of brotherhood, to either win the war or die as heroes on the field!”

The king drew his sword and crossed Kyphon’s blade in the sunrise. The swordsman grinned but then looked to Pan, briefly pointing at the blades with his nose and then invited him to join with a welcoming hand.

Pan gestured dismissively, shaking his head with his nose wrinkled. Thankfully, Kyphon laughed and respectfully let him be.

“I, Erwann von Fraldarius!” said Kyphon.

“Loog von Blaiddyd!” shouted Loog.

“O watchful Goddess, be our witness!” said Kyphon, raising his voice. “Today, we bind our fates as brothers two! To free our lands and people from the Empire’s yoke! To save the weak and downtrodden, and to bring justice to those who suffer still! We shall stand together in all hardship and face all adversaries as one. We shall share all glory and wealth and split whatever misfortune thrown our way! We may not be born on the same day, the same month and the same year, O Goddess, but do allow us to depart to the next realm as one! For as friends we were fortunate to meet, and as brothers we wish to die!” He dramatically pointed his sword skywards. “This _, this_ is my vow and should I ever betray our friendship, may the Goddess smite me from the face of the earth!”

“ _This,_ this is my vow and should I ever betray our friendship, may the Goddess strike me dead!” said Loog, raising his sword and crossing Kyphon’s blade to affirm the oath.

Once all was said and done, Kyphon sheathed his blade and then took hold of Loog’s upper arms.

“Brother!” he said stiffly, as if testing a foreign word.

Loog laughed heartily and slapped his hand on Kyphon’s shoulder.

“Brother,” he replied with a smile on his lips.

* * *

_Before the Battle of Gronder, King Loog and Kyphon swore a brotherhood oath: Two fated friends crossed blades that day on Gronder Field and two brothers returned to the warcamp to rally the troops. Future generations would remember this historic event as the Oath of Gronder Field._

_* * *_

_So it was decided_

_So the oath was sworn_

_Together forever_

_Never alone_


	13. Chapter 13

_Emboldened by the successful capture of the Great Bridge, the Kingdom and the Church prepared to march on Gronder Field while the Leicester Alliance attacked the Empire through House Hrym’s territory in the east. Seeing an opportunity to combine their forces, Rodrigue Fraldarius sent a messenger to Claude von Riegan, proposing a coalition to topple the Adrestian Empire. However, Yvette Fraldarius did not return and her bloated body was found one week later in the river with an arrow in the chest. Uncertain whether their messenger’s death was the work of Leicester or Adrestia, the leader of the Church of Seiros personally departed eastward to parley with Duke Riegan and with them the Wild Swans followed at the behest of Duke Fraldarius._

_It was then a scout, a young maiden with flaxen pigtails, returned with the reports of Emperor Edelgard herself leading troops to Gronder, prompting Prince Dimitri to order an immediate attack._

_* * *_

**I** t is said that Felix Fraldarius had challenged the Lost Prince’s decision to attack the Empire despite their uncertain position and Imperial army being double the size of their own. It is said that he was livid with anger that Prince Dimitri refused to take his cousin Yvette’s death as a warning and reconsider his options.

“If we lose, we’ll have died for you,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

Duke Fraldarius assigned the Wild Swans to accompany the leader of the Church to Hrym territory as guard—if only to keep Felix from agitating the prince any further.

Yet, the morning they departed, Lord Rodrigue gave the Aegis Shield to his son. It is said that Felix Fraldarius had refused to take it, and that the father and the son cursed up a storm while shoving the relic back and forth. Only when Duke Fraldarius embraced Felix tightly and stunned him to silence did he accept the shield.

“Don’t die out here, old man,” said Felix Fraldarius behind clenched teeth, slinging the Aegis Shield across his back. “And don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone!”

Lord Rodrigue smiled faintly and raised his hand in salute as his son departed from the north of the Great Bridge and rode eastward with the leader of the Church. None of them knew that this was a ruse crafted by the same spy who’d leaked information to the Empire about the rendezvous at Ailell…

* * *

The weather was still bleary. Grey clouds filled the evening sky and the mist still lingered at the Airmid River, and on the Great Bridge of Myrddin stood Fraldarius soldiers gathered around Lord Rodrigue’s funeral pyre. Felix’s stomach lurched as he dragged his feet over to the body and looked at his father’s face for the last time.

Duke Fraldarius was still dressed in his bloodied battle gear as he lay on top of the pile of wood and among a collection of bloodied weapons recovered from the battlefield. His hands clasped the hilt of a longsword placed on his chest and he was smiling so peacefully that he seemed to only be asleep.

They had to move on. They could search forever for the right person to blame for this fiasco but that wouldn’t bring Felix’s father back to life.

Felix lowered his torch and lit the pyre, letting the flames envelop his father’s body and then stepping back to where Cousin Jacques and the rest of the Fraldarius troops stood attention. Lightning flashed behind the dark clouds and a clap of thunder followed, but the spring rain did not.

Felix didn’t see his father die. He wasn’t even at Gronder Field when it happened—he was helping the Leicester Alliance subdue an uprising in one of the cities in Hrym territory. Apparently, the Empire had been committing crimes against its own population and the people were rioting violently on the streets against one of their old rulers, who’d been taken captive by a gang of thugs.

Claude denied the allegations of having killed Yvette, saying he already sent Ferdinand and Petra to reinforce the Kingdom army as promised. When he then produced Duke Fraldarius’s letter, Felix immediately saw that it wasn’t his father’s handwriting—but it certainly was Lord Rodrigue’s seal on the parchment. How could the old fool lose his personal seal?

“ _Who_ delivered this?” had Felix asked, and Claude described a flaxen-haired girl dressed in Kingdom infantry gear, which certainly didn’t sound like any Fraldarius warrior at all.

Realizing they had been duped, they hurried back to the Great Bridge to stop whatever disaster was about to happen, but it was too late—far too late.

Felix could barely dismount his steed before Sylvain and Ingrid came running towards him, both bloodied and battered up. Ingrid threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, confusing Felix with the unwarranted attention. But then Sylvain told him the terrible news: Lord Rodrigue died in battle taking an arrow meant for Dimitri.

The Boar had gone mad with rage after finding out Edelgard herself was leading troops to Gronder—he’d ordered an attack despite the fog, and the Kingdom would’ve been annihilated at Gronder Field had Petra and Ferdinand not reinforced the army in the nick of time. The Kingdom wasn’t expecting any help from the Alliance and seeing Edelgard’s old friends at the head of the troops did not help Dimitri’s judgement. They had been ordered to attack anyone who didn’t fly their own banners, preventing the Alliance from assisting the Kingdom until the Knights of Seiros left the main army to receive the support.

When Felix was shown the gilded arrow that took his father’s life, he instantly recognized its features: an enchantment hindering white magic and a barbed head to prevent immediate extraction. But this thrice damned arrow was also laced with Hydra’s Blood, a legendary venom that could kill an adult wyvern with a single droplet—Lord Rodrigue never stood a chance. Duke Fraldarius died in Dimitri’s arms shortly after Dedue cut the assassin— _the Imperial mole_ —down with his axe.

The spy—the flaxen-haired young maiden with pigtails—was one of the children who sought shelter at the monastery a week after the Imperial vanguard attacked Garreg Mach. A copy of Duke Fraldarius’s personal seal and a missive from the Empire was found on her dead body—to think that Gilbert and the Professor thoroughly interrogated every soldier and staff member in the monastery after being sold out at Ailell, but the mole had been posing as a war orphan all along!

Felix didn’t know what to say. He still didn’t know what to say after lighting his father’s funeral pyre. He didn’t even know what to _feel_. He desperately wanted to wail and cry at the sight of his father’s body burning in the fire, but his face remained blank while the flames in his soul continued to scorch his innards.

He cast a look towards the boar prince, who still stood in his bloodstained armour and clutched Areadbhar tightly in his hands. For a second, he thought the beast would murder everyone on the bridge in a mindless rampage, but the Boar’s eye was on Felix—not the funeral pyre. Dimitri opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he pursed his lips in shame and hurt. His eye shimmered—so _he_ , out of all people, was crying.

Felix drew in a deep breath through his nose. The trueborn son of Lord Rodrigue couldn’t shed a single tear, yet the boar prince was crying a river. Felix didn’t want to think himself worse than the Boar, but reality was staring him in the face. Dimitri was crying while _he_ , Felix Hugo Fraldarius, could not muster up any tears. Had years of resentment warped his feelings towards his father into hatred? Had he come to truly _hate_ his own father after all the terrible decisions the old man had made in the past nine years?

No, Felix _refused_ to believe that. He wouldn’t have followed his father to the Great Bridge if that was the case. He wouldn’t even have _written_ to the duke at all if he truly hated his father dear. But perhaps a part of Felix had always known this was how it would end. Perhaps he was already prepared for the worst when he, against better judgement, signed up for this ill-advised invasion campaign.

As the thunder rumbled and roared again, the boar prince finally turned away from Felix and lumbered away from the pyre, heading back towards Gronder Field.

And Felix didn’t stop him.

To the flames with that damn beast! Let him die if he so wished! Did all these people who died in the battle mean nothing to him? Did his “uncle’s” sacrifice mean _nothing_ to him? He didn’t care for the Kingdom or his people—he couldn’t even _pretend_ for a single day! He was no king—he was a slave to his own demons and a bloodthirsty maniac!

Felix clenched his fists as Sylvain gently brushed his shoulder in comfort. He could feel tears prick his eyes as Ingrid placed her hand on his arm to show support. And he rasped out a laugh, dry and joyless, while staring up at the cloudy sky.

What had the last five years been for? Had they all misplaced their faith all along? Should every ruler in Faerghus have grovelled at Edelgard’s feet the moment Cornelia ended the Blaiddyd line? It certainly seemed so now.

Loog von Blaidydd shouldered the burden of kingship when Faerghus needed a hero to unite the north against the decadent Empire. Faerghus had never been wealthy; no single lord could defend against the Adrestian Empire on his or her own, but united they stood strong! Loog swore an oath at Twin Stars Hill to free his people and he upheld that vow, earning his vassals’ respect and devotion.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was the exact opposite. When the people of Faerghus needed him the most, he ran away and lost himself in a quest for revenge. When his vassals reaffirmed their loyalty to him, he abused their devotion and led them to their deaths. And he refused to even see the errors of his ways, going right back to fighting Edelgard after losing a third of his troops and his best commander too! Morale hadn’t been this low since the fall of Fhirdiad—there was no way they could take even Fort Merceus, so _forget_ the Imperial capital!

Felix clenched his teeth.

The kings and queens of Faerghus didn’t use to all hail from House Blaiddyd. Every noble house used to have a bid on the throne and Queen Lydia, who succeeded King Loog, was an unrelated noble from House Gideon. It was only after the nobles focused on murdering each other for power and after a bloody civil war that Loog’s descendants once again took the throne and changed the succession laws. Faerghus wouldn’t survive the constant in-fighting and it was for the realm’s stability that House Blaiddyd continued to shoulder the burden of kingship; or so the historians wrote.

Felix didn’t know _when_ the Kingdom became so blinded by the glory of chivalry and knighthood that people stopped thinking for themselves. When did people begin treating the king as if he was _owed_ blind obedience instead of deciding for themselves whether he was _worthy_ of their devotion? Felix couldn’t possibly be the first person to question these warped ideals. Wasn’t an unworthy ruler the reason Faerghus split from the Empire in the first place? Wasn’t this the reason the Leicester Alliance became a thing?

“We leave and head back to Garreg Mach tomorrow,” Felix told Cousin Jacques. “Contact Uncle and tell him we’ll take the fight to Cornelia ourselves.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Following the death of Rodrigue Fraldarius, the Kingdom relinquished control of the Great Bridge of Myrddin to the Leicester Alliance, falling back to Garreg Mach after the Battle of Gronder._

_It is unknown what prompted the Lost Prince to suddenly abandon his path of death and destruction. Some say the ghost of King Lambert visited him in a dream and reminded him of his duties to his people. Some say Duke Fraldarius’s death caused him to finally question his desire for revenge and see the errors of his ways. Others say it was a revelation of the Goddess that guided him back to a righteous path._

_But regardless of the reasons for his change of heart, his allies remained steadfast at his side—including Felix Fraldarius, who took up the mantle of his late father to help the prince reclaim the capital from Cornelia and her snakes!_

* * *

 **T** he day Felix opened the trunk that his uncle sent him and laid eyes on the ancient sword, he knew he could no longer run from his duty as the heir of House Fraldarius. After reading his ancestor’s old journal and House Fraldarius’s ancestry records, Felix knew he stood at the crossroads of destiny.

Rodrigue Fraldarius left his son the following items:

An old double-edged sword, the blade nicked and worn from battle and the edges dulled by time. There was nothing special about the blade and neither did it carry any enchantment of any kind. It made a poor gift to anyone, not to mention Felix who valued high quality steel.

A heavy leather-bound tome that was House Fraldarius’s ancestry records, tracing all the way back to the Kingdom’s founding days and beyond. No one read that thing. The only time it was ever taken out and opened was when the head of the house registered a new baby, a marriage or a death—which was apparently Felix’s duty now.

Then there was another book, its cover worn by time and the pages yellowed with age. A quick look behind the cover yielded the owner’s name: Pan O’Daly, more commonly known as Pan the Undesiring Strategist. History named him Loog’s friend and advisor from the independence war. He was rewarded with the title of Chancellor was immensely powerful as the king’s right-hand man. For as long as he lived, he remained loyal to his king. King Loog was ever so grateful for him, yet, what Pan did to shape Faerghus into an independent nation was lost in the ripples of time.

And finally, there was a dusty old painting—a picture of King Loog riding alongside a very untraditional Kyphon without his signature Singing Sword and Aegis Shield. He looked so unremarkable that if Felix didn’t know the stories by heart, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that scrawny and brown-haired man was supposed to be Loog’s sworn friend.

As Felix opened Pan’s old journal, he found two neatly folded letters stashed in-between the first page and the cover. Two letters; both addressed to Agnea von Fraldarius. Two letters; written by the same refined hand. Yet, one was signed “Pan O’Daly” and the other “Kyphon Pan Fraldarius”.

Kyphon Pan Fraldarius.

Suspicious, Felix picked up the ancestry records, and seeing his father’s bookmarks he flipped to those pages and read.

Erwann von Fraldarius—a warrior who fought in the independence war. He died unmarried and without children, and was posthumously placed among the ranks of Royal Knights.

Agnea von Fraldarius—the Duchess Fraldarius and the first to wear that rank. She married Kyphon Pan Fraldarius, who sired her twin sons.

Curious, and perhaps even in disbelief, Felix flipped through the records in search for another Kyphon of House Fraldarius, but the next man who bore that name was more than a century too young to be the Kyphon of legends.

So that’s why historians couldn’t find _evidence_ of Kyphon being descended from the hero Fraldarius—he didn’t exist in the ancestry records! And _this_ man—Kyphon Pan Fraldarius, who was Felix’s _real_ ancestor—he married into the family!

Felix looked at the old painting with the two riders, his eyes not landing on Loog, but on the other man who carried the swan shield and dressed in House Fraldarius’s colours.

Closing the ancestry records, he picked up the Undesiring Strategist’s journal and began reading.

* * *

That night, Felix unsheathed the sword Dimitri had gifted him almost eight years ago and once again gazed upon his reflection in the blade. His eyes burned. His eyebrows creased. And he laughed, low and ironic.

Finally, he knew why Sir Kyphon’s name didn’t exist in the records of the Royal Knights—he wasn’t even _real_. The Kyphon of legends—the perfect knight—never existed as a man! All this time Felix had tried to carry on the legacy of a _fictional character_! All these years, the men and women of House Fraldarius chased a legend created by a grieving man who wanted to fulfil a brother’s dying wish!

And Erwann… who first wore the name Kyphon, didn’t even give his life for Loog’s! He died for the Undesiring Strategist himself, who took the name Kyphon for himself as a sign of his grief!

* * *

In the morn, Felix Fraldarius marched to the Knights’ Hall with heavy feet.

The fireplace cast the building in a pleasant warm light, and at the entrance, Felix saw Dimitri and Sylvain embrace tightly and then part without words. The Prince looked pained when he spotted Felix, and when Sylvain began leaving Dimitri grabbed onto his arm, looking at the friend worried, unsure—maybe even scared.

Sylvain smiled meekly to the Prince—his true smile. Even though he didn’t look Dimitri in the eye, he patted the Prince’s strong hand and gave Dimitri an approving nod. He brushed the Prince’s hand off his arm, donning his carefree smile as he stepped towards the exit where Felix stood watching. The young margrave slapped a hand on Felix’s shoulder and then pointed towards the Prince with his head. Felix followed his friend with a questioning look, to which Sylvain responded with a twinkle of his eye. The red-head then inhaled deeply and stretched his arms, letting out a sigh of relief while lacing his fingers behind his head, strolling down to the stables with the sun shining brightly on his hair.

Felix turned back to the Knights’ Hall where Dimitri stood staring at him while wringing his hands—his pale blue eye darting back and forth between the floor and Felix’s face. As the young duke slowly entered the hall he could see the Prince following his footsteps with his eye until Felix stopped at an arm’s length in front of him.

Dimitri didn’t want to be king; he’d been running away from his duties for years. It was Gilbert and Felix’s father and _Felix himself,_ who decided on their own to prop Dimitri up as their leader and _use_ him to rally the rest of Faerghus against Cornelia and the Empire. No one had asked _Dimitri_ what he wanted. No one had _cared_ what Dimitri felt about being forced to wear a crown he’d abandoned for five long years—not even _Felix Fraldarius_ , his supposed _dearest friend_! Instead, Felix cruelly imposed on him duties and burdens heavy enough to crush a regular man, less someone as broken as the Lost Prince!

And yet, Dimitri suddenly changed his mind. After spending _four months_ raving about wanting Edelgard’s head on a spike, he suddenly changed his mind. Suddenly, he was repentant for all the suffering he’d caused, arriving to war council to _apologize_. Suddenly, he said he wanted to take back Fhirdiad and save people. _Suddenly_ , he said he would not let the ghosts enslave him any longer and that he wished to do the right thing, follow his own heart, atone for his sins, and what other nonsense Felix couldn’t remember from that speech!

At the time, Felix had wanted to snap at Dimitri—to take advantage of his vulnerability and dole out punishment. But he couldn’t. His emotions were at war. For wasn’t this what Felix claimed he wanted all along? For Dimitri to “clean up his act” and become a worthy king? For Dimitri to take responsibility and save the people of Faerghus? So why was he angry with Dimitri for wanting to do the right thing?

Because Felix couldn’t tell whether the Prince’s return was real or not. Had the Boar truly been slain? Or had the beast simply rediscovered his ability to pretend to be a man?

Felix slowly unsheathed the mirror sword Dimitri had gifted him many years ago and gazed upon the name inscribed on the blade.

He couldn’t remember the last time he called Dimitri by his proper title. Dimitri had always been Felix’s prince, but he was always his beloved friend first and foremost. Perhaps it was his closeness to the Prince that made him immune to the blind obedience that was force-fed to every Faerghus child. And perhaps _that_ was the reason the Prince chose him—he, who always saw, treated, and dared to love the Prince as his equal. He, who saw Dimitri for _who_ he was—not _what_ he was.

Felix didn’t know _how_ in the world he managed to get things so wrong in the past, but he _wanted_ to know! Enough with the guessing and presumptions. No more pretending and no more lies!

“I have a question for you,” said Felix, pointing at Dimitri with the sword—not with the tip, but with the pommel as he held it in a reversed grip, “so answer quickly before my hand slips and I cut you in half.”

He heard a step in the room and his eyes darted sideways, seeing Dedue standing in front of a pillar with his arms crossed and his face as unreadable as always, but he didn’t seem alarmed.

“Always so ominous,” murmured the Prince, forlorn, as if he was speaking to a harbinger of justice here to collect a debt. “Well? What is it, Felix?”

“Sometimes you have an animal’s face, contorted with anger and bloodlust. At other times, a man’s, with a friendly smile. Which is your true face?”


	15. Chapter 15

_Sword and Shield!_

_On Tailtean Plains!_

*** * ***

**T** he rain poured. Lightning flashed and the thunder roared. Droplets fell and shattered against the armours of dead soldiers and their broken spears and shields, washing away blood from the battlefield. A loud horn tooted in the rain, calling for help.

Erwann could barely keep his eyes open as weariness began to overpower him as inevitable as death itself. He shivered in the cold rain, which was ironic since everything inside him was no doubt burnt.

“ _Erwann!_ ” said a voice, small and frail. And a hand, warm and soft, brushed up against his breast. A light of magic cleared the darkness and flowed into his chest, lighting up the face of the courageous man who stubbornly tried to wrestle Erwann from death’s cold grasp.

“Why?” said Pan, his eyes the warmest flames. “Why, Erwann? _Why?_ _Why_ did you save me?”

Erwann drew up his lips in a weak smile as he gazed at Pan through half-lidded eyes.

“Shrimp…” he whispered, his voice as soft like a breeze. “You said my name…”

“Save your strength if you don’t have anything important to say!” shouted the mage, tears mingling in the rain as he continued to pour white magic into the swordsman’s useless body.

“Hah… but you’re the one who started it…” said Erwann, smiling with difficulty.

“I’ve signalled the army! Help is on the way! Kyphon, hold on!”

Erwann grasped Pan’s slender hand and pressed it against his chest.

“Pan, stop. It’s useless.”

“ _No! Stay_ with me, Kyphon! Loog and the others are coming!”

“It’s no use, Shrimp. Look at your magic… it isn’t working. Everything in here is broken…”

“ _Kyphon!_ ”

“It has been an honour, Friend. But this… is where we part our ways.”

“No! _Please!_ Please, hold on! Help is coming…”

Erwann smiled as his eyes began to dim despite the brightness of Pan’s magic.

 _“_ Fight on, Pan,” he said. “For yourself and for Loog. His Majesty needs you.”

“He needs you too, Kyphon!”

“Hah. I sold my soul to devils. I’ve failed as a knight, and I’ve shamed my family with my cowardice… For you and Loog to give me this second chance so that I may die a hero rather than a monster or traitor is enough for me.”

Pan painfully closed his eyes and ceased his magic. Then, he drew Erwann’s head to his warm chest and allowed himself to cry. He was such a strange creature, this Pan O’Daly. No man at his age would ever wail like a beaten child.

“Pan…”

“Kyphon?”

“Destroy the Singing Sword, so that it may never again tempt another lost soul such as I.”

Pan nodded as he cried, his tears falling on his friend’s face as the thunder roared and the winds began to rise.

“Pan…”

“Yes?”

“Say my name one more time?”

* * *

_On a raining autumn morning, Kyphon died on Tailtean Plains taking a lightning spell meant for his king. Pan O’Daly returned his armour and the Aegis Shield to his sister Agnea von Fraldarius, who immediately broke down in tears in his arms. For her long lost brother had just been found and was now forever gone._

_* * *_

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_One life for another_

_Loog must live on_


	16. Chapter 16

_Insurrection spread like wildfire throughout Faerghus once Prince Dimitri returned to his homeland; nobles and commoners alike rallied to his cause to drive out Cornelia and the Imperial regime. By the time he crossed Herla Pass with Count Charon in the middle of Harpstring Moon, Countess Gideon had raided Cornelia’s base of operations at Faolain River and forced her back to Fhirdiad. By the time Prince Dimitri reached the Tailtean Plains, Margrave Gautier and Count Galatea had already placed the capital under siege. The prince’s army had grown so large that he could storm Enbarr anew if he so wished, but his will to free his people from Cornelia’s tyranny was resolute!_

_With no Imperial relief army in sight, Cornelia built her final line of defence inside the capital and held its people hostage. However, as she rose to power betraying Faerghus, Faerghus would cast her down._

_It is said that a messenger from beyond the wall urged Prince Dimitri to ready his army at midnight and look for a signal at the south gate. Under the cover of darkness, Baron Dominic and his knights stormed Cornelia’s guards and opened the gate. And when the beacon on the watchtower blazed bright, the prince tearfully gave his army the order to advance._

_On Loog’s Square, he faced Cornelia, who’d surrounded herself with armour titans and the last of her treacherous ilk. The entire plaza was laid to waste in the battle; many good men and women gave their lives to bring down the witch and her arcane machines. However, when Cornelia was finally dragged and put on her knees before Prince Dimitri, she laughed in his face. With her last deep breath, she scorned his naivety and implicated a grander conspiracy at work in House Blaiddyd’s destruction._

_“Poor little prince,” she said after divulging Lady Patricia’s involvement in the Tragedy of Duscur. “Unloved by the only mother he ever knew… How pitiful.”_

* * *

 **F** elix stood next to Gilbert on Fhirdiad’s inner city wall at dawn, gazing down at the masses gathered on Loog’s Square. The people were eager to see the face of their saviour, but the Prince remained inside the gatehouse, obscured from the view of the crowd. Dimitri was more timid than ever—he held his head low in shame while Dedue and the Professor supported him out of the shadows. As soon he reached the battlements, Felix dutifully raised the banner of House Blaiddyd aloft over the wall.

The people cheered for their saviour, loud and clear.

King Loog would’ve made a grand speech and denounced Cornelia and the Emperor, but Dimitri was not the King of Lions even though he was outfitted in his battle gear. As the crowd cheered louder, the Prince scrambled back like a scared kitten, but the Professor put a palm on his back and stopped him from running away. So much for that promise of atonement and taking responsibility.

Felix felt the air in his lungs burn as he tightly clutched the flagpole. He could hear the inane words that Gilbert and the Professor spoke to reassure the Prince, and he could see the tears that carved a path down Dimitri’s cheek. And afraid of his soft heart getting the better of him if he stayed any longer, Felix shoved the Blaiddyd banner into Dedue’s hands and then walked away from the scene. Once he’d gotten off the wall and withdrawn inside the gatehouse, he could finally breathe.

Why was he upset? Felix got precisely what he wanted. He’d brought his prince back to Faerghus in triumph and he’d struck down Cornelia and freed his people from the witch’s tyranny! So _why_ was Felix Fraldarius upset?

There was a victory parade afterwards. The procession looped around the entire city to finally end on Loog’s square. People flocked to Felix on the streets to sing his praises; when he passed the crowds he could hear them shout his name.

“Felix Fraldarius!” they cheered. “Hero!” they proclaimed.

Felix got _everything_ he wanted—he’d fulfilled his promise and he’d been recognized for his qualities and deeds! Yet, he felt no joy standing at Dimitri’s side on the square when Faerghus’s rightful king entertained his subjects with a show of power. The people cheered loudly when Dimitri split one of Cornelia’s broken machines in two with Areadbhar. Yet, Felix only felt emptiness inside.

Gilbert and the Professor were delusional if they truly thought people actually were “rejoicing at the return of their king.” It was _Cornelia’s demise_ they celebrated. Had Edelgard been sensible and gotten rid of the witch herself, who knew if they would’ve wanted Dimitri back? Felix would never forget how House Fraldarius had initially been painted the villain for prolonging the war when they refused to kneel to the Empire. And he would forever remember the rueful smile Dimitri offered him once the trite ceremony was done.

There would be celebration throughout the night—the Crown had promised to foot the bill. Yet, tomorrow would be another day of struggle and strife. There were still lords and ladies who were loyal to the Emperor and as long as she still desired to restore the old Empire of Adrestia, Faerghus would never know peace. Yet, Felix Fraldarius dared to hope.

* * *

Felix returned to the hospital to check on his friends after the parade, and he could hear them chatting light-heartedly from the corridor as the nurse led him to the ward. Ingrid sat on Sylvain’s bed with a cast on her right leg. She was peeling a small red apple with a knife while Sylvain lay in the bed and watched with his head wrapped in bandages. Seeing his curious look, Ingrid cut out a slice of the apple and offered it to him with the tip of the knife. Sylvain grinned and shuffled up to a half-sitting position, but instead of taking the slice, he opened his mouth wide, upon which Ingrid pinched his nose and wiped the insufferable smile from his face. He whined feebly as Ingrid pulled at his nose, but stopped when he saw Felix at the doorway with the nurse. Urgently, he slapped at Ingrid’s arm and then desperately pointed across the room towards Felix, who slowly approached with a dark look in his fiery eyes.

The _mighty heroes_ had rushed to Felix Fraldarius’s aid unannounced when he led the Wild Swans to take out Cornelia’s arcane machines. Felix had picked apart Cornelia’s forces when he raided the Imperial camps in the west—he had it all under control! So what was Ingrid _thinking_ when she diverted from the rest of House Galateas’s pegasus knights to distract an armour titan? She was lucky that the Wild Swans didn’t shoot her pegasus down when they aimed their arrows at the machine’s glowing power crystals! She was lucky the titan didn’t cut her in halves when it hit her with its heavy blade… What was Sylvain _thinking_ when he abandoned the rest of the cavalry to attack the titan alone with his lance? He was lucky that the machine didn’t smack him into some sharp debris when it hit him with its massive shield! He was lucky it didn’t crush him when it collapsed…

Felix angrily confronted his friends about their reckless acts, but neither of them showed any indication of regret. He had expected Sylvain to make light of his injury, but for _Ingrid_ to join him in spouting insufferable nonsense was too much to bear. Felix fumed and clenched his fists. He inhaled deeply and whirled around to leave, but Ingrid called out to him:

“Felix, wait!”

“ _What?_ ” snapped Felix without turning back. “Clearly, you’re both alive and well, so I’ll leave you be.” Clearly, Felix was a scaredy-cat that worried way too much. Clearly… the mighty heroes deserved praise for swooping in to save Felix when Cornelia’s lightning towers spooked his horse.

“Felix,” said Sylvain, finally dropping his jovial tone. “Remember the promise we made, you and I? When we were kids? About sticking together until we die together?” He then recited a part of _The Song of Kyphon_ : “So it was decided, so the oath was sworn…”

“Together forever, never alone,” Felix finished it bitterly from behind clenched teeth. Curse his soft heart and _curse_ his weak soul. He turned around and strode over to Sylvain, placing a hand on the friend’s shoulder. The fool, he had a fractured skull and a concussion—he should rest!

“The point of that promise is to share all good things in life and to never abandon or betray each other in hard times,” hissed Felix, rearranging Sylvain’s pillow so that the friend could sit comfortably. He swore the Gronder Oath when he was eleven, offering to be a lonely Sylvain’s brother after Miklan had shoved him down a well. “It’s a _brotherhood oath_ ,” said Felix, “not a godforsaken _death pact_! You can die whenever you please, you half-wit, but don’t expect me to go down with you.”

“Hey, I’m not _trying_ to get myself killed,” said Sylvain, leaning against the pillow and looking past Felix’s caring hand to meet his troubled look. “You know that, right?”

Felix’s stomach churned and he averted his eyes. His thoughts wandered back to the battle against Cornelia and to the moment his friends and family immediately covered him when he fell off his frightened steed.

“I know…” replied Felix half-heartedly. “I know,” he repeated in defeat, releasing Sylvain’s shoulder. He clenched his fists and then breathed out a sigh, looking towards Ingrid and the cast on her leg—would she still be able to ride after this? Throughout childhood, friends and family had protected Felix Fraldarius since he was the youngest and smallest of the bunch. Even now when he was an accomplished warrior, they still had to ward him from harm.

“Keep growing stronger and we might let you protect us one day, too,” said Ingrid with a serene smile.

Felix looked down at his feet and breathed out a ragged laugh—so, she _knew_. As his anger faded, a wave of relief soothed his weary mind. He stepped close to Ingrid and put his arms around her.

“You’re insufferable,” he said. For how long had it been? The last time Felix hugged his friends was nine years ago when Miklan was banished for poisoning Sylvain. Felix had made up his mind that day. He had to grow and change if he wished to ward his friends and family from all harm. His body had to grow and his mind had to be strong. And his soft heart, it had to harden, and his tears could no longer fall. As Ingrid comfortingly returned his embrace and held him, Sylvain whined:

“ _Hey_ … what about _me_?”

Felix could hear that he was half-joking, and he could see that on the smile on his face too, but he didn’t mind so much anymore. Sylvain initially froze when Felix let go of Ingrid and embraced him, but he quickly eased into the hug that he never expected to receive.

“Hm…” Sylvain purred against Felix’s shoulder and lazily returned the embrace. “You always gave the best hugs.”

“Don’t push your luck,” muttered Felix under his breath. He released Sylvain and then turned around to pick up an apple from the fruit basket resting on Ingrid’s bed. “Don’t let this happen again,” he told his friends as he tossed the fruit to Ingrid. “You both almost died.”

* * *

At nightfall, Felix found himself back at the drawbridge in front of the royal castle—a place he’d called a second home until Grand Duke Rufus banished him. He crossed the bridge and passed the gatehouse unhindered. Everyone was carousing in the city, which was mighty irresponsible regardless of the occasion—what if opportunistic thieves took it as a chance to loot the castle? However, once he reached the courtyard, he found the old castle steward speaking to the Prince outside the keep, and they both stopped chatting as soon they saw the young duke approach. Dimitri stared at his friend in shock while Anton gave Felix a courteous nod. He then wordlessly clapped a hand on the side of the Prince’s arm and turned away, heading back inside the keep.

Felix shook his head and lowered his eyebrows in suspicion.

“What was _that_ about?” he said, pointing his nose in the direction the steward had left.

“Ah, Anton briefed me about the situation in the Kingdom…” replied Dimitri, breathing out in relief. “I never would’ve thought he was biding his time at Cornelia’s side all along.”

“Not a surprise,” said Felix flatly. “You thought Annette’s uncle had betrayed you too.”

An awkward silence followed as the Prince looked away in shame.

Felix inhaled deeply in contempt, scrutinizing the tall man standing before him. Dimitri’s hair was all fluffed up and his face was clean. He’d taken off his bulky armour and gear, but he kept the large cloak around his shoulders and the black patch over his right eye. He stood dressed in one of his deceased uncle’s old blue tunics, which clearly didn’t fit—the collar was too big and the sleeves were too long! It wasn’t a slight to Dimitri’s impressive physique—he wasn’t a small man by any means, but Rufus Blaiddyd was a _giant_. Felix figured he must have made a face, since Dimitri suddenly closed his cloak around himself and looked away in shame.

“So,” said the Prince hesitantly, clearing his throat, “I heard from Jacques that you’re heading back to the duchy tomorrow.”

Felix crossed his arms over his chest and nonchalantly looked sideways over his own shoulder.

“Yes,” he gruffly replied, “there’s stuff that needs taking care of. I’m not officially the head of House Fraldarius, yet, but with so many of our own dead, there are inheritance and linage disputes that require my attention.”

“I… see,” said Dimitri, low-spirited and forlorn. He looked away for a moment and licked his lips. “Will you come back?” he then asked with a nervous smile.

Felix looked to the Prince and lifted a dark eyebrow.

“I’ve already told you at the monastery I’ll help you in my father’s stead,” he spoke with an irritated scowl. “Can’t make any promises about additional troops though,” he then added, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “We’ll see what I can do…” Felix whispered for himself.

A spontaneous smile dawned on the Prince’s lips, but Dimitri clamped a hand over his mouth and swallowed his excitement. The moment of silence that followed was uncomfortable and Felix couldn’t help but look around the courtyard for a distraction.

“Where’s Dedue?” he then asked, surprised that Dimitri’s glorified bodyguard wasn’t watching him like a hawk as usual.

“He’s in the Duscur residential district with his battle brothers,” replied the Prince. “They helped freeing me from the Imperial soldiers five years ago at the river Alesia, and they saved Dedue when he was cut down on Teutates Bridge…”

Felix furrowed his brow and then nodded in acknowledgement. Credit where credit’s due. He then lifted his head to gaze at Dimitri’s browbeaten look—the boar prince could certainly use a reward for carrying himself so well in the dumb parade, too.

“ _Dimitri_ ,” rasped Felix in a stiff voice. Why did the Prince’s name _still_ scrape his throat even though his friend had proved his willingness to change? “Welcome home. Dimitri.”

The Prince gasped in elation and relief.

“W-welcome home, Felix!” replied Dimitri, his voice quivering with hope as his lips curved upwards in a tender smile. He absently opened his cloak and lifted a hand towards his dearest friend, but rigidly withdrew it before Felix could respond to the gesture. Dimitri nervously turned away to gaze towards the keep. “I gave the castle’s staff leave to join the celebration,” he said, “but I could draw a bath for you if you want.”

“No need,” replied Felix. “It’s late. I’ll just wash in the bathroom. You should go to sleep. Who knows what Gilbert and the Professor have in store for you tomorrow.”

* * *

There was a large bathtub and a myriad of scented oils and soaps available in the bathroom, but Felix was content with just a towel and a bucket of cold water. All he wanted was to wash quickly so that he could head to bed—he had to get up early tomorrow and ride back to the duchy before House Fraldarius tore itself apart. He’d taken off his gear and clothes and put them on the wooden bath screen or at the bottom of it on the floor, and he was wiping the dirt and sweat off his skin with a soaked towel when the door suddenly creaked open.

“ _Who_ —?” shouted Felix, startled as he immediately reached for his Sword of Zoltan, which was leaning against the bottom of the bath screen among his belts and boots.

“It’s me. I got you some fresh clothing,” replied Dimitri timidly. “If you want them, of course,” he then hastily added afterward.

Felix breathed out in relief as he let go of the sword. He cast a quick glance at the dirty shirt hanging from the bath screen.

“Fine, I’ll take them,” replied Felix, and as soon he’d spoken, a linen shirt and a pair of trousers were tossed on the wooden screen from the other side. “Go to sleep, Boar,” urged Felix. “I don’t need your pampering!”

Felix sighed and shook his head in exasperation as the Prince left and closed the door without a word. He finished washing, tossed the towel on a drying rack and then disposed the dirty water before putting on the fresh clothing that Dimitri had brought him. Then, he gathered his gear and left the bathroom, making his way through the halls to his old room in the castle.

Once Felix was there, he lazily dropped off his equipment on the armchair at the old writing desk and then flopped on the bed spread-eagle. He sighed deeply and his thoughts began drifting as he gazed at the old pictures and ornaments on the walls. Felix knew Cornelia couldn’t operate from Castle Fhirdiad since almost everyone in the capital was out for her blood, but he didn’t expect the castle staff to preserve his old room when he no longer lived here. His old pictures, his books—even the short sword Dimitri gifted him when they were eleven were here.

Felix looked at the bedside table to find a lone storybook there. If he remembered correctly, it was a collection of adventure stories featuring a nameless prince and his faceless knight—specifically written for young nobles to insert themselves in the roles of the main characters. Felix had long replaced all his adventure books in Castle Fraldarius with military treatises and swordsmanship manuals, but there was indeed a time when he envisioned himself as the valiant knight accompanying the high-hearted prince on his quest. He was young and naïve in those days; he thought war created heroes and he didn’t understand the price of his ideals until Glenn’s death made him question everything he once knew.

Now, as a grown man, he knew better. War did create heroes, but it also created monsters. War did bring out some of the best of humanity, but ultimately, it destroyed families and lives. Sometimes, when Felix looked at his brother’s portrait, he wondered if Glenn ever understood how important he was for the family. Glenn paid the ultimate price for his ideals of chivalry, but his family would continue to pay for it for many years to come.

Felix saw it all in his search for the Lost Prince: impoverished and broken families, people turning to thievery and banditry, and the starving orphans on the streets. His sightings had strengthened his resolve to find and bring his prince back to Faerghus so that they could deliver their people together —like Loog and Kyphon did centuries ago. But Dimitri crushed his hope altogether; with a sick obsession with the dead and his pursuit for twisted justice, the Lost Prince was _barely_ better than the Flame Emperor who’d brought ruin upon the entire continent for her own greed and selfish ambitions!

Dimitri had promised to change and atone for his sins, and Felix _desperately_ wanted to believe him. Yet, he couldn’t simply take Dimitri’s word for it—not after having seen the boar prince at his worst. Edelgard was still out there with her head attached to her shoulders. Could Dimitri truly let go of the past? Could he truly shake off the ghosts that had controlled him for a decade? Felix wanted to believe that he could. He desperately wanted to believe that Dimitri was as strong in mind as he was in body; he wanted to believe that his father’s sacrifice hadn’t been for naught. Yet, he was afraid.

Felix closed his eyes and suddenly it struck him that Dimitri was all alone in his room. Suddenly, painful memories flooded his mind: a scared little prince hiding under the bed at night, a frightened student hiding under his desk, and the Lost Prince curled up on a church bench begging a phantom lover to not leave him alone with his tormentors. And unable to pacify his worried heart, Felix got off his bed and marched out of the room, making his way to the prince’s chambers in the east wing.

Dimitri’s door stood wide open—Felix could see light pouring out of the entrance as he approached in the corridor. When he reached the doorway, he found the Prince sitting on a stool in front of the small fireplace in his bedroom. The area was neat—there was no trace of his old fits or panic attacks. Yet, the way Dimitri sat hunched over with his hands in his hair filled Felix’s heart with dread all the same.

“Dimitri?” said Felix, carefully approaching his prince.

When Dimitri didn’t reply, Felix’s heart immediately fell.

“ _Boar!_ ” He shouted at his beloved friend, fearful while demanding Dimitri’s attention. He reached the Prince with three sweeping strides, and finally, Dimitri gasped and looked up with question. The Prince silently pulled his fingers out of his hair, leaving it in an untidy mess.

“Felix,” said Dimitri, his voice soft and his brow creased as he focused his gaze on his dearest friend. “What brings you here?”

Felix swallowed and tightly clenched his fists. He couldn’t see any ghosts, but he saw in Dimitri’s troubled expression that the demons were breathing down the Prince’s neck. Felix wished he knew exactly what Dimitri saw and heard, but the idea of asking the Prince to _tell him_ about the ghosts hadn’t crossed his mind until now. The warm firelight drew sharp shadows on Dimitri’s face, and without the eyepatch, Felix could truly see the damage that had been done to his splendid visage. His useless eyelid was split with an ugly scar and his right eye was completely gone. Felix had seen worse disfigurement, but it was different when the defaced person was his dearest, most precious friend. He realized he must have let his discomfort show, since Dimitri suddenly looked away.

The Prince raised a hand and covered his empty eye socket. His forehead creased and he bit his lower lip. Tears flooded his remaining eye and he struggled to not shed them.

Felix held his breath. He used to comfort Dimitri when he had nightmares. How long had it been since he comforted his friend? Had Dimitri allowed anyone else to comfort him when Felix wasn’t there? Remembering Dimitri crying alone under his desk at the academy, he figured the Prince had been dealing with his nightmares alone for almost a decade.

“ _Dimitri_ ,” began Felix, finally exhaling and drawing in a long awaited breath of air. It pained him to admit it, but Felix wondered if Dimitri would still allow him to keep him safe. “It’s late,” he said, “let’s go to bed.” Carefully, Felix squatted at Dimitri’s side, placing one hand on the Prince’s shoulder and the other on his thigh. He wouldn’t blame Dimitri if he no longer wanted his comfort—Dimitri had given Felix several chances and he’d squandered them all. “Come on, boar prince,” whispered Felix, tapping Dimitri’s leg gently. “Let’s go to bed together.”

The Prince still covered the right side of his face with a hand and looked back with surprise as another tear rolled down his cheek. Dimitri’s lips moved in silent confusion, but he didn’t resist when the Felix urged him up from the chair and led him to the canopy bed they used to share. The frame was made of old oak timber and the long drapes were Blaiddyd blue, soft to the touch and trimmed with white and gold. The mattress was comfy and the fluffy pillows and warm duvet were stuffed with soft goose down. It was a prince’s bed; it was Dimitri’s, but Felix had shared this bed with him for a good portion of their lives. Countless nights, they’d huddled up together behind the curtains and kept each other warm, chatting and whispering into deep night…

“Felix,” said Dimitri as he nervously seated on the side of the bed, resting his fists on his lap. “Felix, you don’t _have_ to…” whispered the Prince with a voice as frail as glass.

“You don’t have any guards in the castle, idiot,” hissed Felix. He put a hand on the front of Dimitri’s shoulder and motioned the Prince to lie down on the bed. “What if someone tries to go after you while you sleep?”

Dimitri gazed at him with hesitation, but he did get into the bed and scooted over to make space for his friend. Felix slipped under the covers and made himself comfortable, but it didn’t take long for him to discover that Dimitri had retreated to the edge of the bed.

“Boar,” said Felix, glaring at the back of Dimitri’s head. “What are you doing over there?”

“I—”

“Come to the middle or you’ll fall out of bed; you know you move around in your sleep.”

Dimitri’s head dipped below his shoulders and Felix grunted in frustration. It was easy for him to forget the Prince’s state of mind, but he restrained himself before he could begin spewing poison that would surely get him thrown out of the room.

“Dimitri,” Felix tried again, gently tapping the space right next to him in the middle of the bed. “Come to me. Please.”

The Prince remained still for a moment, but he then shuffled towards the middle of the bed without turning around to face Felix, who finally closed the distance with an embrace that caused Dimitri to gasp in surprise. Felix’s heart beat fast and loudly in his ears, but he focused on Dimitri’s back against his chest, letting the comforting warmth ease his troubled mind.

“Don’t worry,” he told Dimitri, nuzzling the back of the Prince’s neck. “I’m right here.”

The pitiful sob that Dimitri let out was a deep cut to Felix’s heart—even now, the Prince was dear to him. But then Dimitri wriggled out of his embrace and turned around, and Felix winced at the sight of his friend’s ruined and tearstained face. His mind betrayed him and began repeating the memories of the beast in the woods of Avalon and the monster in the Holy Tomb. Felix’s heart almost leapt through his chest when Dimitri trapped him in his strong arms and sobbed into his chest. And yet, he wrapped his arms around his prince’s shoulders and clung on tightly.

Dimitri. Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri…

He kept repeating the Prince’s name in his mind to quell his fear. The coward within him once again wished to run; to forget his name and inheritance and board the swiftest ship to another continent and never return. Yet, Felix Fraldarius knew he would find nothing but darkness down on that path. He could run from his responsibilities as heir to House Fraldarius and from Dimitri, but he would never be able to escape his own conscience.

Felix pulled away from the hug and cupped Dimitri’s face with his hands, forcing himself to look at his beloved friend—to truly see Dimitri how he really was. He took in the sight of his messy blond hair, his single pale blue eye, his ruined eyelid and the empty socket behind it, and his fearful expression with tears streaming down his left cheek…

It was Dimitri who pushed him away; the Prince put his hands on Felix’s shoulders and then firmly pushed Felix back until he was at an arm’s reach.

“You’re scared…” said Dimitri, his voice quivering with sadness and hurt.

Reminded of his weakness and past mistakes and failures, Felix desperately shook his head no. He grabbed Dimitri’s wrists but the only sound he was able to make was a strangled cry.

“You’re _shaking_ ,” said the Prince, withdrawing his hands. “Goddess, I-I should leave…” Dimitri tossed the duvet off and began to sit up. “I shouldn’t have—”

“ _No!_ ” shouted Felix with his heart in his throat, besides himself as he grabbed Dimitri’s nearest arm. “Don’t you _dare_ leave me behind _again_!”

Dimitri froze.

“Okay…” whispered the Prince, fearful and teary-eyed. He hiccupped and slowly lay down on the bed with his jaw clenched tight. Dimitri clutched the linen bed sheet tightly enough to tear the fabric and his chest rapidly rose and fell. “Yes, Glenn… I’ll do whatever you say.”

Felix’s heart sank like a stone in the sea and he quickly released his prince and covered his own lips with his hands.

Felix was _trying_. He really _was_. But he couldn’t beat the ghost that Dimitri had created in his image to ward him from harm. The real Felix wasn’t kind and sweet; the real Felix Fraldarius was impatient, overbearing, and cruel. The real Felix didn’t have a honeyed voice that was a balm to the soul of his prince; the real Felix Fraldarius sounded and spoke just like the dead brother that tormented Dimitri’s mind!

The Prince had trusted Felix. Ten years ago, Dimitri had confided in him about Glenn’s ghost. Back then, Felix had dismissed Dimitri’s fears and told him to get back up. He was so smitten by the Prince’s display of strength that he failed to realize that his dear friend was pretending all along. And then, after the revelation at Avalon Hill, he abandoned him in disgust and fear and continued to give Dimitri grief in Officers Academy for wearing a mask—even though _Felix_ had previously made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want a weak prince!

Felix shut his eyes tightly, inhaling and exhaling long and deep. He was not a coward. He was better than Gilbert, better than the late Duke Fraldarius, and better than the Lost Prince. He would _not_ wallow in his own misery while neglecting his dearest, most precious friend, who was still alive and needed him more than ever.

Felix summoned his last ounce of courage and put his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder.

“ _Dima_ ,” he said, searching for his childhood timbre. If the boar prince could change, then so could _Felix_.

Dimitri blinked to attention and then stared into Felix’s fiery eyes.

“Felix…” he finally said, lifting a hand and hesitantly putting it on his beloved friend’s cheek.

“Let me protect you,” said Felix, begging for yet another chance. “Please, Dima, please let me keep you safe tonight.”

Dimitri hesitantly parted his lips and then agreed with a silent nod. Felix lifted a hand and gently pushed Dimitri’s shoulder, and the Prince reluctantly turned around to let Felix latch onto his back from behind again.

“Is this fine?” asked Felix, slipping his arms around Dimitri’s chest. He was doing a terrible voice, but if this was the only way for him to not invoke Glenn’s ghost, then so be it.

Dimitri didn’t reply immediately, but he did affirm his comfort with a nod after a while. Felix let out a sigh of relief and pulled the Prince closer. He carefully repositioned the arm trapped under Dimitri’s body under the pillows, hoping that the cushions would prevent his limb from falling asleep.

“Is this all right?” asked Felix again.

“Mm-hm,” Dimitri murmured as Felix nuzzled his hair. “This is nice.”

When Dimitri tentatively touched the hand resting at his stomach, Felix reached out and caught his prince’s hand. Lovingly, he laced their fingers together and then kissed Dimitri’s soft golden locks, letting the warmth and familiar smell of pines and wildroses lull him to sleep.

* * *

When Felix inevitably woke up later, the fire had burnt out. The sky had begun to brighten in the far horizon and the stars had dimmed. Cold light poured in through the window to illuminate the sleeping prince in his arms. Felix was virtually in the same position he’d fallen asleep in, but the Prince had turned around and tucked his head under his protector’s chin. Dimitri’s arm rested lazily on Felix’s waist and in his unguarded, peaceful expression, Felix recognized the young prince he once swore to protect. He brushed some hair away from Dimitri’s face, tucking the golden strands behind his ear. Felix then carefully extracted himself from the bed, taking his time to lower the drapes of around the bed before tiptoeing out of the room to take his nightly leak.

The castle was still relatively empty, but he did hear some servants and guards having returned to their posts in the halls. Felix quickly hurried to the latrine to do his business, and then hastily returned to the Prince’s chambers before anyone could see him. In hindsight, he realized how silly he was for sneaking around since the attendants of the castle already knew his detailed history with the Prince.

To Felix’s relief, Dimitri was still in bed when he returned, although he’d put up the curtain closest to his head and turned around to face the light; Dimitri still couldn’t sleep alone in darkness. Felix’s first thought was to cuddle up to his prince again, but he decided against it in case Dimitri had already gone back to sleep; the Prince needed rest more than anyone after entertaining his people for an entire day. But as Felix settled under the shared duvet again, Dimitri softly spoke his name:

“Felix…”

“Mm?” replied Felix groggily. He scooted over to Dimitri’s side and carefully placed his hand on the Prince’s shoulder. “Are you okay? Dimitri?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Are you cold?” asked Felix, sliding his hand down to Dimitri’s upper arm and moving himself closer to the Prince.

“A little,” replied Dimitri.

Felix slid his arm around Dimitri’s waist and pressed his chest against the Prince’s back, once again putting his other arm under the pillows so that he could hold Dimitri as close as possible.

“Better?”

“This is lovely, Felix.”

Felix wrinkled his nose as his cheeks began to burn. He closed his eyes, hearing a subdued laugh rumbling in the Prince’s throat.

“So my old clothes still fit you,” said Dimitri. “Who would’ve thought?”

“We can’t all win the genetic lottery,” murmured Felix. He was too tired to be angry. He searched for and caught Dimitri’s hand, lacing their fingers together again. Felix buried his nose in the soft blond bush in front of his face, relieved that Dimitri felt safe enough to make stale jokes about his small stature.

“Felix,” Dimitri then said, his voice suddenly shaky and unsure, “are we—” He paused. “Are we—” He tried again, but his voice once again failed him.

“Spit it out, boar prince…” replied Felix. He was impatient due to the lack of sleep, but his tone was soft despite his choice of words. “Say it before I fall asleep.”

Dimitri remained silent for so long that Felix was almost certain he was dropping the issue.

“Felix, are we still together?” the Prince then finally asked with a quiver in his voice.

Felix groaned.

“Tch, I’m right behind you, idiot,” he wearily replied.

“No, Felix,” said Dimitri. “I mean… _together_. Are we still… a couple? An item?”

Oh.

Despite his sleepiness, Felix heard the keyword “still”, and he blinked to attention when he realized its significance. Felix Fraldarius was certain that his prince had missed him. He was almost certain that Dimitri still harboured feelings for him despite the years that had passed. But to think that Dimitri had thought him as a lover throughout these horrible years was too much—to Felix’s knowledge, their short-lived romance began and ended in the Western Rebellion. However, this did explain why Dimitri kept pestering him with courtship gifts during those years—Felix never officially broke up with him and just ran away like a coward.

“I-I—” stuttered Felix, struggling to work out a proper reply. “I… don’t know.” Had Dimitri told anyone what happened in Avalon? It was all water under the bridge, but by the Saints, Felix must have looked like a wronged lover to those who knew.

“Felix, I know I’ve taken everything House Fraldarius can give,” said the Prince. “But, I still want to make one more selfish request.”

Felix gripped his friend’s hand tightly.

Stop, he inwardly begged. Don’t say it. Don’t say it, you boar!

“It would mean the world to me if you could stay at my side as an advisor,” said Dimitri.

“ _Boar,_ do you even know what you’re asking?” protested Felix, livid and despondent at the same time. “We—No, _I_ —”

He was young and stupid back then—when he dared to stake a claim on the very Crown Prince of Faerghus. And now, they both had their separate duties to the Kingdom; they couldn’t be selfish children anymore! Yet, Felix still couldn’t bring himself to say the words to end it once and for all.

Felix let go of his prince and turned away, hiding his face in the pillow.

Why did Dimitri even want him back at this point? He’d treated the Prince terribly after running away from him in Avalon! Maybe the Lost Prince did deserve some of Felix’s ire; maybe he didn’t deserve any of it at all. Regardless, Felix’s treatment of Dimitri was _not_ the way to treat a loved one. And based on that alone, Felix was unworthy of the Prince’s affections.

Warm arms then wrapped around Felix’s smaller frame, and he shuddered at the touch.

“It’s all right, Felix,” Dimitri shushed him. Despite his monstrous strength, he held Felix tenderly. “You don’t need to give me an answer right away.”

Felix inhaled deeply and exhaled just as long. Goddess above, Dimitri’s voice was so soft. Felix’s heart sang, but his body trembled uncontrollably in the Prince’s loving embrace.

“Go home to your uncle and sort out your business,” said Dimitri. “Think about my offer… When you have your answer, come see me. When you—No, _if_ you think I’m worthy, Felix, come see me.” And with that, he planted a soft kiss on Felix’s head and let go, retreating to his own side of the bed and leaving the young duke reeling at what just happened.

“ _Boar_ ,” Felix gasped out, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. “I’m… not—I _can’t_ be your knight anymore!”

“That’s fine,” replied Dimitri softly, mirthful even. He let out a relieved sigh. “Felix,” he then continued, his voice as soft as his words were determined, “I know my words mean very little to you, but I promise I will prove my worth as a king to Faerghus and her people; I will prove my worth to you.”

Felix cursed under his breath. What did he do to deserve this? What qualities did Felix Fraldarius possess to deserve the future king’s affections and undying love? It certainly wasn’t good looks, courage, loyalty or _kindness_.

Felix bitterly shuffled away from Dimitri to sleep on his own side of the bed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep with a heavy heart.

And he made sure to rise early in the morning and leave the castle before his prince woke up.

* * *

_After liberating the capital from Cornelia and the Empire, Prince Dimitri focused his resources on stabilizing the Kingdom while the Church of Seiros departed to take up the fight against Emperor Edelgard with the Leicester Alliance._

_Regina Gideon and Charles-René Gautier took most of the Kingdom army and rode westward to drive out Imperial troops from Faerghus, while Leopold Charon and Valdemar Galatea returned to safeguard the east against invasion._

_Felix Fraldarius bid his friends and allies farewell at dawn and with a heavy heart, he returned to the duchy to asses House Fraldarius’s losses._


	17. Chapter 17

**E** mperor Dietfried von Hresvelg initially dismissed Loog’s rebellion as a nuisance, for in both resources and numbers of fighters, Loog was no match against the Empire. Yet, the emperor’s arrogance was no small contribution to the defeat at Gronder, which empowered Loog’s rebellion to truly become a threat to the Adrestian Empire.

When Loog challenged the emperor at the river Airmid, Dietfried sent his eager son to crush the rebellion with a larger army. It is said that the scouts reported favourable news to the young prince: The rebels were underequipped and highly disorganised. Loog’s generals were fighting amongst themselves and his chief strategist, Pan, had resorted to praying to the Goddess for aid.

Prince Fritz scorned their pathetic display. Convinced that the northerners had given up, he readied his army to assault Loog’s camp.

But on the day of battle, strong winds rose and a storm blew up. And there he stood—Pan—at his makeshift altar with his sword held aloft and shining like a beacon. The Goddess had answered his prayers, he declared, shouting against heavy rain and cracking thunder. She had sent the north wind to aid King Loog in punishing the emperor and his decadent court, he proclaimed. And emboldened by divine favour, Loog and his generals rode out to face the Imperial army with the wind and rain whipping their backs!

When Prince Fritz ordered his mages and archers to shoot, the volleys fell short due to headwind and rain. When the two armies clashed, the warriors of Faerghus fought like wild men—fierce and unrelenting and not giving an inch of ground. And when Loog and Kyphon cut a swath through the Imperial formation with their relic weapons, the battle immediately turned into a rout.

Prince Fritz was captured and sent limping back to his father with a scar on his face. He brought with him a message from Kyphon, who mocked the emperor’s measure of a man for sending an “infant” to fight his own battles.

Many disgruntled nobles immediately joined the rebellion following Loog’s victory: The Empire was not almighty—the Empire could be defeated!

As for Pan, although his contemporaries hailed him as a mystic tactician, Loog’s writings in his later years revealed that his friend was neither oracle nor seer. Pan merely knew how to read the skies and winds, the king wrote, but he could enchant anyone with his captivating voice and wondrous eyes.

* * *

Kyphon and Pan would continue to aid Loog throughout the war, seizing victory from the jaws of defeat with one miracle after another. Even though the war dragged on for years, Faerghus endured. Even when the tides of war turned in the Empire’s favour, Faerghus stayed resolute…

In four years Loog and his companions fought against the Emperor Dietfried; in four long years they resisted Imperial rule. But finally, in the late autumn of 751, the emperor had pushed Loog’s army all the way back to the north. Cold winter was upon them and unwilling to fight a winter war in Faerghus, Dietfried von Hresvelg requested to parley with Loog and negotiate peace.

It was raining that day and a storm was approaching. It is said that Loog’s beloved had cited bad omens and urged him not to go, but the king refused to believe in superstitions. He rode out to the plains to meet the emperor, followed closely by his sworn friend Kyphon and a handful of knights.

It was a trap.

Instead of Emperor Dietfried, they found Albrecht von Vestra at the head of a squad of mages, who unleashed a storm of lightning upon Loog’s retinue. Kyphon managed to shove his friend out of the spell’s reach in time. He then fought Lord Albrecht despite his injuries, and single-handedly cut the treacherous men down with his Singing Sword. Then, in the arms of his king, Sir Kyphon succumbed to his injuries and died.

Loog wept bitter tears at his sworn friend’s funeral pyre, but Pan did not even show up.

Pan returned the Aegis Shield to Countess Agnea von Fraldarius and accepted her hand in marriage. Overcome with anger and grief, he took Kyphon’s name for himself and swore revenge for his brother dear. Yet, before the upcoming battle at the Tailtean Plains, he vanished with the Singing Sword and left both his wife and king behind.

Loog would fight on valiantly, but without either Kyphon or Pan at his side, his resolve faltered as the first snow began to fall…


	18. Chapter 18

_Although the majority of the Duchy of Fraldarius had been spared from the ravages of war, the constant skirmishes against Cornelia’s troops had left a blackened scar in the lands bordering Blaiddyd and Fraldarius territory that would remain for many years to come._

_The village of Ardghal, which was severely punished for sheltering the Lost Prince, had been left in ruins since its destruction, and its inhabitants had long since relocated to the duchy._

_Yet, the oak tree at which Felix Hugo Fraldarius gave a promise to the young prince once upon a time, had been spared from axes and flames. Some of its bark had been shredded by the elements; some of its branches had been cut down by human hands. But its roots grew deep, and as Felix Fraldarius led his weary army home after the victorious battle at Fhirdiad, the soldiers noted how the young duke had suddenly stopped to longingly gaze at the tree that bloomed proudly on its lone hill in the morning sun._

* * *

 **W** hen Felix returned to the duchy, his people lined the streets to greet him with a hero’s welcome, cheering his name and showering him with spring flowers and praise. His heroic deeds during the war spread far and wide: Truly, he had earned his glory at last? Yet, Felix could not bring himself to smile and wave to the masses as he’d been taught to do. But despite his stern expression and seemingly unapproachable demeanour, he wasn’t blind to his people’s admiration. In their eyes, he saw hope—as the ninth Duke Fraldarius, _he_ was their hope.

Things had changed at Castle Fraldarius. As soon Felix passed the gatehouse, he heard the familiar clashes of wooden swords. He expected visitors and kids. However, he didn’t predict an entire herd of children playing in the sunlit yard. Their ages ranged from toddlers to young teenagers and they all looked alike: all of them shared the most typical Fraldarius features such as pale skin and raven hair.

Felix dismounted his steed to greet his uncle, who came rushing out of the keep. Uncle André embraced Cousin Jacques and then forced a hug on Felix too. He cried tears of joy and relief that his son and nephew had returned safe and sound; things couldn’t have been easy for him after the terrible news from Gronder Field.

“Father,” said Jacques, chuckling, “when did you turn the castle into an orphanage?”

Uncle André released Felix and sighed deeply, shaking his head. He named two servants to bring the horses to the stable and then gestured the son and the nephew to come inside the keep.

“These children are all subjects of custody disputes,” said Uncle André when they were out of earshot of the kids. He then placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “Tread carefully, dear nephew. I don’t think our relatives have anything against you personally, but I won’t put it past them to try manipulating your decisions.”

Felix nodded with a sardonic smile. Of course his cousins wouldn’t have escalated their problems all the way up to him unless they knew they could get what they wanted. He sighed and made his way into the great hall and upon seeing his mother’s very large and extravagant shrine, he felt his innards burn.

“Take that down,” said Felix coldly, pointing his nose towards the wall where his mother’s portrait and old belongings were on display. “Clean out my old man’s room and get rid of Glenn’s shrine there, too,” he added with a fiery tongue.

André Fraldarius didn’t object and had his nephew’s orders carried out immediately. Felix silently watched the servants take down his mother and brother’s portraits and mementoes. Although he acted as if he was eager to replace his own father and move into his room, the truth was that Felix simply couldn’t look at the things that constantly reminded him of how far gone his father was in his grief. Felix would be lying if he said he didn’t keep pictures of his brother and mother in his room, but he certainly didn’t build entire shrines for his dead family members—and neither did he pay people to write eposes to distort their memory!

“My lord Felix,” said Jean, and Felix clenched his jaw tight to not yell at the steward in anger and frustration. “What do you want us to do with the Duchess’s and Lord Glenn’s belongings?”

Felix snorted and bitterly hissed back:

“Sell them, burn them, give them away; I don’t care! Just get it all out of my sight.”

Shortly after giving the order, Uncle André approached Felix with the question regarding the whereabouts of the father’s remains.

“We buried his ashes in Garreg Mach,” replied Felix evenly, crossing his arms. “The old man was deeply religious,” he said, averting his eyes and lowering his chin towards his chest. “He’ll find peace at the monastery.”

Admittedly, he could’ve said it in a less dismissive tone, but even Felix Fraldarius had enough tact to not tell his uncle right away that the father’s burial urn was in a shallow grave marked with a rusty blade. War preparations and securing a path back to Faerghus had been keeping everyone busy during the last month—no one had time for extended burial rites!

“Felix,” Uncle André spoke softly as he shook his head in disappointment. “Your father belongs in the ancestral tomb. I’ll have his remains retrieved; Rodrigue would’ve wanted a proper burial.”

A _proper_ burial with fanfares and parades, right? Felix clenched his teeth. He would never forget the godforsaken charade he had to partake in when Glenn’s remains were put into the catacombs. He remembered the grandiose procession and the trite speeches, the hired mourners and their fake tears, and the awards the Crown so generously handed out to Glenn, who couldn’t even enjoy them because he was _dead_! All those memories stoked the ardent flames in Felix’s soul and made his blood boil with rage. No, he would _not_ put himself through that farce again; he would not put _Dimitri_ through that garbage ritual and add more guilt on the Prince’s _already_ tattered soul!

“Don’t put your words in the mouth of a _corpse_!” hissed Felix, suddenly spewing flames at his uncle dear. “Father is _dead_ —he doesn’t want or care about anything anymore, and we don’t owe him anything other than perhaps _sadness._ These burial rites are just _charades_ for extended family to _pretend_ they cared about the old man, and for _charlatans_ to flaunt their virtues and try getting in good graces with House Fraldarius!”

“If you won’t allow it for your father’s sake…” André Fraldarius’s voice quavered as he implored his nephew. “Then, would you pity your old uncle and let him bring his brother home? Or do you think me as a charlatan as well?”

Felix bit his lower lip upon seeing his uncle’s earnest look and wounded expression. He then spun around his heel, turning away to storm off to his room, but his feet refused to move.

Stop it, he scolded himself inwardly. Stop running, Felix Fraldarius, you’re not a child anymore! Is this how you’re going to behave when you officially become the head of House Fraldarius, too?

Felix clenched and unclenched his fists. He couldn’t care less about his father’s remains, but his dear uncle didn’t deserve this kind of treatment from him. Uncle André and Cousin Jacques had only been supportive and kind to him throughout the years. And if André Fraldarius needed to bring his brother home in order to find closure, who was Felix to deny him that?

“After the war,” said Felix, straightening his posture and turning back to his grieving uncle. “Once the war is over, Uncle,” he said, reaching out to briefly grasp his uncle’s hand, “we’ll bring him home.”

* * *

Felix finally entered his father’s study with weary feet the next morning. Taking a deep breath, he carefully opened the door and stepped inside the room, looking from the filled bookshelf to his father’s old work desk. The room smelt of ink and old parchment and Felix placed a hand on the wooden desk, letting his gaze wander over the white goose quills and inks to finally rest on the stack of reports and letters, upon which a small swan statuette glinted in the morning sun. Felix sighed and drew out his father’s old armchair. Sitting down, he placed his hands and forearms in front of him on the desk, idly tapping the ancient wood with his fingertips as old memories resurfaced in his mind.

Felix used to play in his father’s study and pretend to be Duke Fraldarius when he was a boy. Even now, Felix remembered his father’s hearty laugh chiming in the hall as Dimitri dragged him back downstairs after the father caught them messing up his letters and reports.

He inhaled deeply and then exhaled, looking at the family picture hanging on the wall opposite to the bookshelf: His mother sat in a comfy armchair in front of the fireplace in the great hall, her long red hair held up in a hairnet adorned with pearls of glass. She cradled baby Felix in her arms and at her right side stood young Glenn, his hair ruffled while flashing his perfect teeth in a smile. And leaning over the duchess’s left shoulder stood Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius himself, one hand resting on his wife’s shoulder and the other holding Glenn close.

A sudden emptiness took hold of Felix’s heart, and he spluttered a sardonic laugh while closing his hands into fists. He was alone now, wasn’t he?

Felix clenched his jaw tightly, breathing through his nose as his vision began to blur. He blinked the tears away, his gaze fixed upon the painting next to the family picture: Ten year old Felix sat with the Prince in a comfy sofa surrounded by various symbols of power and chivalry. If one was unfamiliar with the royal family, they could’ve easily mistaken Felix and Dimitri for being actual brothers based on this picture. Felix still remembered the painter directing him to stand at an armchair, and Dimitri outright refusing to pose unless his best friend, too, was given a seat.

Back then, Felix still wore spruce green like his father, as depicted in the picture. After Rufus Blaiddyd banished him from Castle Fhirdiad, he began wearing teal as a sign of his devotion to Dimitri; he didn’t care about the glory and prestige that Glenn chased when he became a royal knight; he couldn’t care less about bringing honour to House Fraldarius. He cared about his dearest, most precious friend! And then, after the reveal of the beast at Avalon, Felix shortly went back to green before it was all replaced with the Officers Academy uniform.

Felix looked down at his teal doublet and cape, which he’d worn throughout his search for the Lost Prince.

Dimitri. Despite everything, he still wanted Felix back.

Dimitri. How was he doing on his end? Did he sleep? Did he eat? Did he miss Felix?

Felix had to do better. If he couldn’t even be better than the boar prince—what right did he have to scold Dimitri for wearing gravestones around his neck?

* * *

As head of House Fraldarius, it was Felix’s duty to ensure order in the family and serve as the highest judge in in-house disputes. Throughout the first week, he reviewed his cousins’ motions and summoned them for interrogation regarding their quarrels and disagreements.

There were twelve orphans in Felix’s custody that needed re-housing. Half of them were Crested and their nearest kin tried to seize them for themselves. The other half had been dumped off at Uncle André’s feet since no one wanted to feed extra mouths after the war had drained most of their resources.

Such was the case of Florian, Yvette Fraldarius’s son. The boy was as dark-haired and as blue-eyed as a traditional Fraldarius child. He was six years old and all alone—his father died at the home front, and his mother was killed by the Imperial spy at Airmid River. Felix didn’t know Yvette’s life-story, but it was well known that she eloped with a farmer; it wasn’t unexpected of her sister Estelle to not acknowledge her nephew.

Little Florian was clubfooted on his left leg, so he usually kept for himself. But whenever Felix went out to stretch his legs after hours of paper work, he would see the boy sitting on a bench longingly watching the other children play. Florian was very happy when the others invited him to play once in a while, even though he ended up getting terrible roles in their games. But when Felix saw the older children shove Florian to the ground and mocking the way he ran with a limp, he ordered the brats to be taught a lesson in humility. Unfortunately, that only made the children shun Florian more and the clubfooted boy ended up following Jean around or helping the servants with light chores, which did not better his peers’ opinion of him at all.

With Uncle André’s guidance and help, Felix assigned new guardians to the orphans, and his cousins came back to pick the children up in the beginning of the second week of Garland Moon. Estelle Fraldarius, however, never arrived, and Florian grew increasingly anxious as he watched the other children leave the castle from the bench in the courtyard.

“Aunt Estelle doesn’t want me,” said the boy, on the verge of tears.

Felix wasn’t sure if he still knew how to comfort a child, but he promised to assign Florian another guardian and make sure that he was placed in a household where he was _wanted_ —he didn’t have all those clowns interrogated for nothing. Felix also began teaching the boy the art of the sword that day.

Florian learnt quickly, and he was stubborn, refusing to let his left foot hold him back. But he was shy and self-conscious—no doubt, the bullying had chipped away any confidence he might have had. Felix was correcting the boy’s grip of the sword when an unexpected visitor arrived at the castle and requested audience with Rodrigue Fraldarius’s heir.

Raoul, Jean’s nephew and also once a stableboy at Castle Fraldarius, was shown into the courtyard by the castle guards. He was friends with Glenn back in the days, but was fired after inadvertently overhearing some family secret of sorts. Felix wouldn’t have recognized Raoul if the guards hadn’t announced his name—the man had grown a full beard and his red hair had darkened to brown. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and a warm red coat with fur trimming, and across his left shoulder was a travel bag slung. Felix heard Raoul ran a popular tavern in Branwen last time he was there, so he’d certainly made good use of that money Felix’s father gave him after sending him back to the village.

“Duke Fraldarius,” began Raoul, bowing low to the son of his former employer and lord.

“I’m not the duke yet,” corrected Felix.

“Very well, my lord Felix.”

Felix groaned and Raoul looked him up and down, seemingly inspecting his appearance. Then, the former stable hand nodded thoughtfully towards Florian, who immediately latched onto Felix’s waist. The young duke instinctively rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder, comfortingly holding Florian close.

“Your son?” asked Raoul with a friendly smile.

“What? _No!_ ” replied Felix, but he didn’t let go of the child. “He’s _Yvette’s_. I’m his—” He paused to count on his fingers. “His third cousin once removed.”

“Hah, of course, you did fancy His Highness the Prince.”

“ _Careful_ now,” said Felix in a low voice, narrowing his eyes at the man and studying his jovial smile. He didn’t know what to expect; he didn’t really _know_ this man! Did Raoul intend to extort money with whatever secret he overheard many years ago or did he simply come here to ask for work?

“Forgive me, my lord.”

“Whatever,” muttered Felix impatiently. “Just tell me why you’re here.”

Raoul gazed at Florian and then around the courtyard, where the orphans played under supervision of servants and guards. He clutched his bag, lowering his voice to a faint whisper:

“We need to speak in private, my lord Felix.”

Felix patted Florian’s head and told the boy to go play with the remaining children. He then led the way into the great hall and upstairs. Once they were in the study, Raoul reached into his bag and withdrew a wooden cube decorated with a pattern of rectangles etched with runes and symbols. The most peculiar thing about it however, was the ruined hilt of a Levin Sword protruding from the top of the box. The gold lining the fuller of the broken blade and the arcane crystal on the guard gleamed despite the rest of the swordhilt’s half-melted and mangled appearance.

“Duke Fraldarius and his troops passed through Branwen on their way to Ailell,” said Raoul. “Your father rested at my establishment and entrusted me with this… puzzle. He made me swear an oath to hand-deliver it to his successor if something happened to him.”

“A puzzle, huh?” grumbled Felix as Raoul handed the item over to him. The wooden cube fit in his two hands and he recognized the sword hilt that stuck out of the box—this was part of Glenn’s Levin Sword, which was recovered from Duscur! Felix grasped the handle and lightly pulled it with a testing hand. The blade—or whatever was left of it, rattled inside the box but it was ultimately stuck in the cube. When Felix tugged harder, the arcane crystal on the guard glowed dangerously and the young duke let go as he felt the power of an enchantment pulse against his palm. Felix stared at the puzzle as the light of the power crystal faded. The blade was rigged with a spell—the enchantment would destroy the puzzle and whatever secret it held if opened with force! Whatever the late Duke Fraldarius wanted to pass on to his successor, it had to be of utmost importance if this level of precaution had been applied.

“Did he say how to open it?” asked Felix, narrowing his eyes at the dumb toy in his hands. “Any hint at all?”

“‘In order to move forward, you must first go back.’ That’s the hint,” said Raoul.

Felix groaned in irritation. Riddles and puzzles—two of the things he most disliked.

“If my lord Felix has no further need of me, I’d like to return to my village,” said Rauol. “I must look after my family in these trying times.”

Felix nodded as he put the puzzle down on the desk. He then gestured towards the exit and began showing his guest out of the keep. As he passed the balustrade while heading towards the stairs, he saw Florian sitting at the bottom of the staircase.

“Uncle Felix!” said Florian, a hopeful smile on his lips as he stood up and clutched the training sword in his hands. Had he been waiting here the entire time? It hadn’t been all that long, but did the kid truly sit here waiting for Felix to get back to him?

Felix gave Florian a soft smile and ruffled the boy’s raven hair. He bid Raoul farewell and called for one of the servants to show the man out of the castle. Then, he turned his attention back to Florian.

“Shall we continue where we left off, then?”

* * *

He began working on solving his father’s puzzle in the evening.

A solid wooden frame held together eight puzzle pieces that were embossed with symbols and runes, which in turn trapped Glenn’s broken blade within the box. He could slide the pieces around within the frame and pull and push them too—if the pieces weren’t interlocked inside. From trial and error, Felix figured out that each piece had to be moved in a specific way and specific order in order to progress. The most infuriating part, however, was the arcane crystal that glowed as soon he pushed the pieces a bit too hard or tugged the sword hilt a bit too sharply; the damn toy was clearly mocking him!

By midnight, after many hours of shoving the pieces back and forth and in and out and up and down, Felix found himself having inadvertently reset the puzzle to the beginning. And he nearly smashed it against the wall in rage. Was this a prank? Was Rodrigue Fraldarius punishing his errant son from the grave for being such an impudent child?

Felix tugged at the swordhilt one last time, letting go as soon the puzzle threatened to blow up in his face. Defeated, he put it down on the writing desk in his bedroom. He disrobed his outer layers of clothes, dumping them on his chair before flopping on his bed with a weary sigh.

It _had_ to be a prank. The father _knew_ Felix had no patience for puzzles, and yet, he gave him that… _thing_! Felix rolled over to his side and glared at the damn sword in the box. No, that thing had to hide some important secret; Rodrigue Fraldarius wouldn’t make Raoul swear an oath to hand-deliver it to his successor if it wasn’t extremely important. This had to be a _test_ ; a challenge Felix had to overcome!

As Felix lowered the green drapes of his canopy bed, he couldn’t help gazing out of his window towards the stars and the half moon.

Dimitri. How was he doing on his end? Did he sleep? Did he eat? Did he miss Felix?

Dimitri. Despite everything, the Prince still wanted Felix back…

So Felix promised himself to do better. If he couldn’t even be better than the boar prince—what use would he be of Dimitri and the people of Faerghus?

* * *

Even though Dimitri had retaken Fhirdiad and told Felix to go home and rest his troops, the war was _not_ over. Felix had heard the news: The Professor and the Church of Seiros had left Faerghus to aid the Leicester Alliance in bringing the Adrestian Emperor down, while House Gautier and House Gideon took their armies to help liberating the rest of Western Faerghus from the Empire’s shackles. They might be winning now, but the tides of war were unpredictable at best and treacherous at worst.

Although the lands of the duchy hadn’t suffered much damage due to its location behind allied territories, House Fraldarius had kept a standing army for five years. The families of those who’d suffered losses had to be compensated, and the soldiers who’d fought in House Fraldarius’s name needed to be paid for their service. Felix’s father might not have been an excellent governor, but he certainly was a great general who knew how to inspire loyalty. But unlike the conquest of Sreng, there were little to no spoils to be had in the civil war, and Lord Rodrigue had been paying his soldiers with promises for a long time. Now that Faerghus’s Shield was dead, they certainly expected his son to honour the promise and pay their salaries in full. The question was where Felix would get that money from. Felix and his uncle were reviewing House Fraldarius’s resources and expenditures when a royal envoy from Fhirdiad arrived at Castle Fraldarius.

The messenger was accompanied by an entourage of knights. He had a chest unloaded from his wagon and presented it to Felix. Then, he read the edict from the Prince, who had decided to handsomely reward House Fraldarius for the war efforts. Felix hesitantly opened the chest to reveal the load of golden coins. This generous reward certainly solved his financial problem, but from _where_ did Dimitri get all this money?

He picked up a coin and looked at the minting—these came directly from the royal treasury! The monarchs of Faerghus were known to be poor compared to their counterparts in Adrestia; was Dimitri _bankrupting_ himself to pay everyone else?

Worry gnawed at Felix’s chest, but he stubbornly clamped his mouth shut. No, Felix had to trust Dimitri as the Prince had trusted him.

As the envoy handed the edict to Felix and departed, the young duke had the money brought into the keep. Although he immediately announced his plan to pay his soldiers their earnings, Felix still sent Jacques to the capital to see how the Prince was doing on his end.

Early in the next morning, Felix personally rode out with a retinue to deliver his soldiers their pay just like his father did after the Sreng war. He didn’t like the idea of being paraded from town to town, but he heeded his uncle’s advice of establishing loyalty among his subjects early in his reign. The rest of the duchy needed to know he was worthy of wielding his father’s sceptre; the new Duke Fraldarius had to prove himself to his people with his actions.

Felix spent the next week touring the countryside, and as his uncle had predicted, his dedication to his people made him massively popular over one night. He wasn’t even formally in office yet, but his people had no qualms comparing him to his old man already, saying he was as noble and honourable as the last Duke Fraldarius. It was exhausting to smile and wave through all that flattery, but Felix had endured worse things in life. While he was grateful that Dimitri had helped him out, he couldn’t help but wonder how the Prince was dealing with all the problems that Cornelia had created in Blaiddyd territory.

When Felix returned from his trip, he found Little Florian still in Castle Fraldarius. The boy was practicing archery with Cousin Jacques in the courtyard when Felix led his steed through the gatehouse. Florian squealed with delight when he hit the red centre of the target with his arrow, and when he saw Felix, he happily bounced up and down on his good leg and pointed at the target with a happy smile.

“Uncle Felix!” he said. “Did you see? Did you _see_? I hit the centre! I hit _the centre_!”

Felix nodded to the boy, but he approached Jacques.

“ _Oi!_ ” Felix cried out when Florian ran up to him and tossed his arms around his middle. “I’m sweaty! Get off!”

Florian’s face fell when Felix’s pulled him away, but he seemed a little hopeful as Felix kept his hands on his small shoulders.

“Where are the other children?” Felix then asked, looking over the boy’s head and towards his cousin.

“He’s the only one left,” replied Jacques, shaking his head and gesturing at Florian. “I’ve tried to personally deliver him to both Estelle and Alain but they keep passing the buck to each other. Lacking a Crest is one thing, but having a club foot is another.”

Felix clenched his teeth, but he inhaled deeply and reined in his ire. He looked at Florian’s left foot—it wasn’t even _that_ deformed. Yes, it was a little bit bent inwards and Florian did walk with a limp, but Felix was certain this could be corrected with a brace!

“What news from Castle Fhirdiad?” Felix then asked, hoping that his cousin had better tidings from Dimitri’s front. Estelle and Alain—he’d deal with those two clowns later.

Jacques’s lips parted slightly but he didn’t speak. Then he averted his eyes and sighed.

“You’re not going to like this either, Felix,” said Cousin Jacques.

“Just tell me what happened.”

“The Leicester Alliance’s invasion failed.”

Felix lowered his eyebrows and nodded, listening intently.

“Volkhard von Arundel suddenly showed up with a massive relief army and lifted the siege of Fort Merceus and scattered the Church and Alliance’s troops. The Empire then used this opportunity to strike back against Leicester. When His Highness heard the Flame Emperor was sacking and burning her way towards Derdriu, he gathered his troops and—Felix?”

Felix froze and stared blankly at his cousin. He clamped his gloved hand over his lips as his heart began to beat at a frantic pace. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his breathing, but in his mind’s eye his worst nightmares were revealed: He saw Dimitri, bloodstained and crazy, butchering everyone in his path to the Flame Emperor. He saw the delusional prince wringing Edelgard’s head off with his bare hands and cackling like a lunatic, asking his dead family for praise before he was shredded by a hundred blades.

* * *

_Hearing that Prince Dimitri had departed with an army to fight the Empire again, Felix Fraldarius summoned the Wild Swans once more to battle. At the end of Garland Moon, he departed from his home and rode eastward into the Leicester territory, leaving his uncle André Fraldarius as regent while hoping the catch up with the prince before it was too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The puzzle in this chapter is based off the burr puzzle “Excaliburr” designed by Stephan Baumegger.
> 
> Also, the part where Felix's walks into his father's study was written with Felix's Silver Snow ending in mind (and also his dialogue in the last chapter where he tells the Avatar he might work for them, but he needs go back to Faerghus first to pay respect/put flowers on his father's grave).


	19. Chapter 19

**T** he first snow of 751 fell in the middle of Red Wolf Moon.

Azure banners waved proudly in the wind as Loog von Blaiddyd—King of Lions and Faerghus’s chosen king—rallied his troops at dawn. With his best general dead and his chief strategist missing, Loog placed his trust in the strength of his soldiers and their iron will. And outside Fhirdiad’s walls, they all stood gathered, ready to follow his lead again. For four years they’d fought for Faerghus’s freedom; for four long years they’d defied the tyrant on the Adrestian throne. This could be the end—this could be their very last battle. Still, they would let the emperor know that the will of Faerghus did not easily bend; let the rest of the Empire know that as long as the oppression of their people remained, another hero would one day rise!

At the sound of his army’s horns and battlecry, King Loog unsheathed his blade, giving his army the order to advance. On the plains of Tailtean, the two armies clashed; in the rise of dawn they did battle for Faerghus’s fate.

Loog led a cavalry charge with his most experienced horsemen; and for once, Emperor Dietfried faced him on the field with his mage knights. The emperor played cat and mouse, keeping Loog at bay with spells; and without Kyphon or Pan supporting him, Loog could not catch Dietfried even with Areadbhar in hand.

The infantry clashed on the plains. The warriors of Faerghus fought valiantly, but in addition to being outnumbered four to five, the emperor had more clerics and mages supporting his troops. Within an hour of battle, Loog’s soldiers began losing ground, overwhelmed by the Imperial army’s heavy infantry…

But just when all seemed lost, a crack of thunder roared, followed by warhorns thundering in the whirling snow. And there—in the sunrise and at the head of an army without banners—was a knight astride a grey horse. His green shield was emblazoned with a silver swan with lifted wings; and in his right hand he held aloft a sword of magic, which sang a single note in the wind and shone like a star in the twilight. He was armoured in brilliant silver and draped in a spruce green cloak, and most of his face was concealed by a winged helmet. Yet, the moment he ordered his host to charge, Loog knew his name…

* * *

_He’d kissed those lips countless times. He’d heard that bright voice sing happy tunes to him in the darkest hours of his life._

_He’d wished to protect him; oh, how he wished his beloved had stayed out of this bloody war! Yet, there was no more turning back despite the sorrow in his heart._

_So onwards he rode with his relic glaive brandished high! To battle they rode—king and knight…_


	20. Chapter 20

_After reclaiming all of north-western Faerghus in House Blaiddyd’s name, Margrave Gautier and Countess Gideon prepared to cross the river Alesia to face Count Rowe and his vassals—the last of the traitors who still supported the Empire. The Adrestian Emperor wasted no effort in reinforcing her authority and power, supplying House Rowe with troops and provisions to endure the incoming battle. However, while Emperor Edelgard defended Arianrhod with her elite guard, the Leicester Alliance and the Church of Seiros attacked Fort Merceus, which had been left under the Death Knight’s command._

_It is said that Claude von Riegan disguised his troops to infiltrate the Fortress City, but the Death Knight saw through his ill-concocted scheme! Every soldier who followed him into the fortress was slaughtered at the gate while Duke Riegan himself barely escaped with his life. The rest of the Alliance and Church army was scattered by Lord Volkhard von Arundel, who’d suddenly emerged with a massive relief army from behind!_

_With the Knights of Seiros retreating to Garreg Mach and the Alliance army spread out across House Bergliez’s domain, Lord Arundel took this opportunity to strike at the centre of Leicester. The Lords of the Roundtable could not mount their defences in time to prevent the Imperial army from crossing the Airmid River and retreated to Derdriu, where the Leicester Alliance would make its stand._

_House Riegan evacuated all civilians well before the battle and the splendid city of Derdriu was turned into a battlefield when Lord Arundel’s troops breached the southern gate. The Leicester soldiers fought bravely using the city’s defences and terrain to their advantage. Yet, against the Empire’s overwhelming numbers, they barely stood a chance…_

_But then, just when all seemed lost, loud horns suddenly blared from the south, where azure banners waved in the wind. Prince Dimitri spearheaded a charge with his army and the Knight’s of Seiros from the plains! With his mighty glaive, he broke the Imperial army’s rear, spreading chaos among his enemies with devastating attacks. And at Duke Riegan’s signal, Leicester soldiers burst out from civilian homes and completely surrounded the Imperial army, which was herded into the plaza for slaughter…_

* * *

 **H** ouse Riegan’s crescent moon banners still flew above the gates of Derdriu the day Felix and his warband arrived from the west. The sentries on the battlements pointed their bows and arrows at the Wild Swans as soon they approached the bridge. Cousin Jacques was about to step forward, but Felix raised his hand and stopped him.

“I am Duke Felix Fraldarius,” Felix presented himself to the guards. “I’ve come to aid the Alliance.” The words sounded unnatural in his voice, but he’d get used to it. In the old days, he would’ve dismissed anyone trying to follow him, thinking companions were liability. The old Felix Fraldarius would’ve secretly packed his belongings and ridden off on his own in the middle of the night. But he’d learnt his lesson after Cornelia captured and nearly tortured him to death in that tower. His harsh judgement perhaps held true back in the academy—where he was surrounded by fools and layabouts that enrolled for the prestige of graduating from Officers Academy—but among tested warriors as skilled as him, he had no doubts. Felix was _done_ being a coward pretending to be almighty instead of taking a good look at himself and his surroundings; he couldn’t do everything alone and there were plenty of people who wished to help him if he’d only dared to ask.

Felix gazed down the river beneath the bridge while awaiting an answer from the guards, and a shiver ran up his spine as he spotted the dead soldiers in the water.

He’d heard about the battle from people outside the city—he’d heard the grim tale from the injured soldiers resting outside the warzone: How the combined forces of Leicester, Faerghus and the Church of Seiros had encircled the Adrestians and blocked off all paths of escape. It was a bloodbath: The Adrestians were squeezed from all sides and not given any room to fight. The streets ran red with blood when the battle was over—Lord Arundel refused to surrender and the battle didn’t end until he was dead.

Suddenly, Felix stood in the rain, gazing down at the bodies of fallen knights and rebels in a dark forest. Suddenly, he was back in Avalon, frantically searching for his beloved prince in the woods…

“Felix…” he heard a distant voice say his name. “ _Felix!_ ” yelled Cousin Jacques, tearing Felix out of his reverie. “Are you okay?”

Felix inhaled deeply and then exhaled through his nose. He nodded calmly and gestured to his cousin not to worry. He was stronger than the boar prince who was controlled by the past!

“Felix? _Felix Fraldarius?_ ”

A familiar voice called out his name and as the portcullis was raised, Felix recognized his old classmate: Flaxen hair and round eye-glasses still decorated Ignatz’s face, but thankfully, he’d gotten rid of his old haircut. He dressed in a spring green cloak and a dark brown coat, and he carried a sword as sidearm in addition to his warbow and quiver.

“Ignatz!” said Felix, when his old classmate greeted him at the entrance of the gate. But then he looked past Ignatz’s shoulder and into the city and saw bodies piled up on the streets—dead soldiers dressed in both yellow and red. He could hear distant cries of fighting. The smell of death shouldn’t faze Felix anymore considering all the years he’d spent tracking the Lost Prince in Western Faerghus. Yet, he felt nauseous now and his heart beat like a drum in his chest. Was this going to be a repeat of the Battle of Avalon Hill? Was he going to find Dimitri cackling mad with bloodlust? Felix saw Ignatz’s smile and his lips move, but he couldn’t hear the words. He was barely able to hear himself ask the important question:

“Is Dimitri here?”

“Prince Dimitri?” said Ignatz. “He’s should be in Derdriu Palace— _wait!_ ”

Felix ran. He didn’t hear Ignatz call his name. He didn’t hear his old classmate tell him the streets weren’t safe. He heard voices shouting, but he couldn’t tell if they were real or haunting nightmares; there was no escaping his treacherous mind showing him Dimitri’s face twisted in madness and his hands stained with blood.

“Dimitri…” Felix whispered for himself. “Dimitri!” Felix shouted for his prince as he sprinted down bloodied streets. “Damn boar, _where_ are you? _Dimitri!_ ” Felix screamed as his vision began blurring with tears.

Suddenly, a frenzied soldier in red took a wild swing at the young duke with his sword and Felix narrowly evaded the cut. In a flash, Felix drew his Sword of Zoltan and slashed the man in the arm; and in the next moment, he’d incapacitated his enemy with a mighty pommel strike. Felix panted in the middle of the streets, staring down at his defeated foe on the ground. The haze in his mind was clearing, but he couldn’t assess the situation before he heard a shout coming from behind. He spun around, facing yet another Adrestian swordsman in the middle of the crossroads; the man held a ball of flame above his head while a knight in silver armour was trying to restrain him from behind.

“Get down!” shouted Jacques. His resolute arrow whistled through the wind and pierced the swordsman’s throat, disrupting the incantation and giving the knight just enough time to get away from the fiery blast.

As the knight staggered away from the cinders and smoke, Felix saw the azure cape with a silver griffon falling from his shoulders, and on top of it was a teal scarf woven with a familiar white and orange pattern.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Felix yelled at Dedue, angry and afraid. “Where’s _Dimitri_?” He grabbed Dedue’s scarf and shook the knight with a pathetic grip that was weakening as his emotions became increasingly harder to control. “Why aren’t you _with_ him? Where’s the _Professor_? Where—”

Finally Dedue shoved the young duke back with the palm of his hand, sending Felix stumbling backwards and into Cousin Jacques. Then, the knight lifted his visor and said two words:

“Not now.”

* * *

After the last stragglers had been captured, Felix sent his battalion to the Kingdom warcamp while he looked for the Prince. It was sundown when he followed Dedue to the Riegan estate located in the city’s north, where Dimitri and the Professor supposedly were in a meeting with Leicester lords. However, the guards outside the palace wouldn’t let him in. And Felix felt as if he’d been punched in the face. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe; and in the next second he wanted to scream.

“He is the Duke of Fraldarius,” Dedue tried explaining to the guards, “His Highness’s—” The knight paused and looked to Felix for input, but the young duke was too livid to respond. “His Highness’s important friend.”

The guards wouldn’t budge. They told Dedue to get a written note from the Prince of Faerghus if that was the case.

“ _Forget it,_ ” rasped Felix, turning away from the palace. “Tell the boar prince I’m in the warcamp.” The air in his lungs was burning up, but he wasn’t mad at the guards for doing their job—he was mad at _himself_ for leaving Dimitri’s side— _again!_

And so, Felix left the Riegan estate and the bloody streets of Derdriu. He headed south to help his warband set up camp among the rest of the Kingdom army and as the night fell, he remained awake in his tent, waiting for Dimitri to return. He had to ask the Prince _what_ in the world he was _thinking_ heading to war so soon after promising to prove to his people that he was a worthy king! Felix waited and waited; he paced back and forth inside his tent until he was too tired and had no choice but to head to sleep. And he slept until the next day—until one of the Royal Guards informed him that he’d received an invitation to the Riegan estate.

Knowing that he finally could go find the Boar, Felix ate and washed quickly and then hurried to the palace with Claude’s invitation. And as expected, the guards let him through the gate.

The walls inside Derdriu Palace were panelled and painted, and the decorations and furniture were fitted with gold. House Riegan was one of the most powerful noble houses in Fódlan and it showed in their extravagant lifestyle, which they’d adopted from Adrestia after splitting from the Kingdom. It was said that every generation of nobles had expanded on the estate, landscaping the gardens and making the palace bigger—everything to show off status and wealth.

Felix didn’t see a single familiar face in the great hall—Dimitri and the Professor had already gone to the Roundtable Conference and nobody was allowed to disturb the meeting unless the city was under attack. Most people in here were Leicester nobles talking themselves up for _nothing_ considering how Lord Arundel nearly put the entire Alliance under his heel. Feigning neutrality worked for a while, but Edelgard was done playing nice! The Empire had suffered great losses; the Flame Emperor needed resources to sustain her army and Leicester had them!

Felix stayed a while and listened to at least find out what was going on. There was something about the Kingdom and the Alliance joining forces to topple the Empire. There were discussions regarding Dimitri and whether he was a worthy king. And what in the world was this _nonsensical_ rumour about Edelgard and Dimitri being stepsiblings?

Eventually, Felix exited to the bright gardens for fresh air, absently wandering until he found himself at the separate, smaller house where the Roundtable Conference was taking place. It was a restricted area—guards were stationed in every corner of the conference hall, but Felix snuck as close as he could from the gardens, hiding behind topiaries as he pathetically tried to catch a glimpse of Dimitri in the windows.

The Roundtable Conference had been going on for a day, but no one left the building until the meeting concluded. Felix couldn’t help but wonder how Dimitri was doing on his own—without Felix at his side. He worried that the ghosts in the Prince’s mind might once again seize control of Dimitri after the bloody battle of Deirdriu, where thousands of soldiers were slaughtered on the streets! But then Felix finally saw his prince in one of the windows with the Professor at his side. The Professor gently patted Dimitri on the back, gesturing calmly while discussing something with the people in the room.

Felix bit his lip and lowered his head in shame. He turned away from the building, slinking away the way he’d come. He left the Riegan estate and headed back to his tent in the Kingdom camp. There, he unsheathed his mirror sword. The inscription on the blade used to grant him courage and renewed resolve, but now it suddenly made him feel confused and lost.

Was it a mistake to come here? Should he have stayed in Fraldarius territory and watched over his people? Dimitri had their friends and the Professor supporting him—Felix wasn’t needed here.

“Felix.”

Hearing Dedue’s voice outside his tent, Felix lowered his sword and sheathed it. He straightened his posture before heading outside where the knight stood waiting in the sun, his long shadow looming over the young duke as he exited the tent.

“What do you want?” said Felix.

“I wish to return this,” replied Dedue, showing Felix a black iron spur.

Felix immediately checked his pocket and realizing he’d indeed lost his brother’s old spur, he snatched it back from Dedue.

“Where did you find it?” said Felix under his breath, embarrassed and frustrated with his own carelessness.

“I found it in my room in Castle Fhirdiad.”

In Castle Fhirdiad! Felix lost the spur back in _Fhirdiad_! In his room—in _Dedue’s_ room?

“ _Hah_ ,” Felix sighed, but it sounded like a sad laugh. That explained why Felix’s old room hadn’t been abandoned after Rufus Blaiddyd banished him. “So you kept all my stuff? My books and pictures and… even Dimitri’s and my portraits on the wall?”

How _conceited_ was he to think that the Prince couldn’t live without one Felix Fraldarius? It wasn’t _Felix_ who stopped Dimitri from throwing his life away at Gronder; he was fully prepared to cut his losses and return to Faerghus with or without his prince! It wasn’t Felix who opened Dimitri’s eyes and made him turn back to the light; all that credit went to his father, to the Professor, and to Dedue—who’d long since filled Felix’s role as the Prince’s faithful knight!

“I do not ask for unnecessary accommodation,” said Dedue. “You were not an ugly child,” he then added in afterthought.

Felix clenched his jaw. He looked sideways and then put the spur into his pocket. As the knight turned to leave, Felix spoke again and told him to wait.

“You defended me in battle back there,” Felix then stated, gesturing in the general direction of Derdriu and glaring at Dedue. “ _Why_?”

“His Highness does not wish for our military strength to be depleted,” said Dedue a matter-of-factly. “The loss of your strength would be—” He paused and met Felix’s gaze. “ _Significant_ ,” he finished in an almost contemptuous voice, lowering his eyebrows to glare back at the young duke.

Felix cringed and turned his face away, crossing his arms over his chest—the message was clear. So he _knew_. All this time—Dedue _knew_. In retrospect, Felix felt silly for thinking otherwise. In hindsight, he realized that Dedue already told him back in the academy that he knew Felix and Dimitri’s history—what made Felix think that didn’t include what happened in Avalon? Felix covered his face with his hands. Dimitri probably dragged Dedue with him to buy stupid courting gifts! How many people in the Royal Court knew Felix Fraldarius had spurned the Prince’s affections?

“You colossal _idiot_ ,” hissed Felix, exasperated as blood rushed to his cheeks, but he still tried to stick to the subject. “One slip-up and you would’ve died back there! You think Dimitri would’ve been happy if you _died_?”

“No, I do not.”

“Then _why_ protect me?” Felix whirled around and lifted his cape, showing the Aegis Shield strapped on his back. “I thought you were his mindless weapon,” said Felix, facing Dedue again, “his sword and shield!”

Dedue wordlessly parted his lips. He took a step closer to Felix, but the young duke bounced back, glaring at the knight with his eyes burning bright. For a moment, they stood there in silence. Then, to not let himself continue verbally abusing someone who’d risked his life protecting him, Felix turned away and slipped inside his tent.

“I know what happened to your brother,” said the knight, piercing Felix’s high walls with a single sentence and following him into the tent. “He was at Duscur,” continued Dedue. “He died to protect His Highness.”

“He _did_ ,” wheezed Felix, his voice low as the flames in his soul rose and threatened to escape. “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” Slowly, he closed his hands into fists and turned around to face Dedue again. “Are you repaying some kind of _debt_? I hope you’re not going to praise his death. I’ve heard enough of that from my old man!”

No matter _what_ Dimitri might think, Felix had never wished his brother had left him for dead. Glenn was a hero indeed, but he was _not_ the perfect knight that his father made him out to be. Glenn was very honest with Felix that he enjoyed glory; he was very honest with _himself_ that he did all the things he did not _only_ because it was right, but _also_ because it made him feel good and important; Glenn followed his heart, but he was an _egoist_ in that sense!

There was so much Glenn wanted to do with his life: He wanted to get married. He wanted to travel and see the world beyond Fódlan’s borders. He wanted to continue helping people as a knight and grow his legend, so that he could look back on his life when he was old and say that Glenn Fraldarius had truly lived his life to the fullest! His death, it was a _tragedy_! And Felix hated the fact that his father refused to see it for what it was—a _tragedy_! Instead, his old man lauded Glenn as a paragon knight _for dying_ and tried erasing all the things that made Glenn _who_ he was!

“I will not praise it then,” said Dedue, his voice strained as he noticed how fast Felix’s chest was rising and falling—and the unshed tears in his eyes. “Instead I will say that I would have done the same in his position. Is it really so unnatural to put one’s life on the line to protect a brother in arms?”

Felix swallowed a lump in his throat and then cursed under his breath. He whirled around and turned his back to Dedue.

Go away, he wanted to say, grinding his teeth in the silence. Just take your damn win and _leave_ already!

“Your father once told me he raised two sons; a Knight and a Prince.”

Felix breathed out an ironic laugh. _Really_ now?

Fine, do your worst, thought Felix. Just keep pouring salt on my wounds, won’t you?

“I take that you are familiar with the stories of _The Prince and the Knight_?” said Dedue, slow and impossibly soft as if he was speaking to a hurt child.

Felix drew in a deep breath. _The Prince and the Knight_ —that’s the stupid storybook Dedue had out on his bedside table. It was a book for _children_ ; a collection of easy-to-read adventure stories. It featured two nameless characters simply known as the Prince and the Knight. The Prince sought a magical cure for his dying father and the Knight wanted to lift a curse placed upon him by an old wizard. They crossed paths in a forest, became friends and companions, shared adventures, rescued princesses and so on.

“Every Faerghus child read that garbage,” replied Felix in a shaky voice. “What are you getting at?” Felix sniffled involuntarily—Damn it, his nose was runny now! _Damn it._

“Do you remember when we first met in Castle Fhirdiad?” asked Dedue, thankfully not commenting on the crying.

“I saw Anton yell at you for calling Dimitri by name if that’s what you’re asking.”

“He did. But he also reprimanded me for calling you a prince.”

“ _Preposterous_.”

“Is it? The Knight is strong and loyal, but the Prince is high-hearted and brave. The Prince takes charge; and the Knight follows. Your father said you were a prince in all but name.”

* * *

That evening, Felix hid away in his tent and challenged his father’s puzzle again, writing down every move in a notebook to remember which moves he’d already tried and which was likely the right path. That night, he carefully removed the puzzle pieces and drew the broken sword out of the frame, reading his father’s final message to him on the blade.

In the morning, he sought out Dedue and handed him a piece of ore and the pieces of a torn-up letter written in Duscur language—all found inside the hollow puzzle pieces.

“Agarthium,” said Dedue when he looked at the shimmering rock in the rising sun.

* * *

The Roundtable Conference concluded on the evening of the third day. Everyone rejoiced at Dimitri’s return and even the people of Derdriu praised him as a “Saviour King” for thwarting Lord Arundel’s invasion. He’d promised to lead the fight against the Adrestian Empire and was supported by all the lords of Leicester; he’d sworn to bring Edelgard down and restore peace.

Once Cousin Jacques began spreading the news around the warcamp, Felix ran over to Dimitri’s tent to see him.

Dimitri glowed radiant as the sunlight washed over his battle regalia and shone on his golden locks when Felix suddenly lifted the flap of his tent. He wore a dumbfounded look on his face, and before he could utter a word, Felix ran up to him and wrapped his arms around his chest. It was an uncomfortable hug; his ridiculous pauldrons had edges and corners and Felix was certain Dimitri couldn’t even feel him through the plate armour. And the moment Dimitri tried to return the embrace, Felix let go.

“I can’t believe you left Faerghus and rode to _war_ without telling me!” Felix chided his prince. “You dumb boar! Do you have _any_ idea—” Then, upon seeing Dimitri soft expression, Felix silenced himself and reined in his ire. He dusted off his teal doublet and brushed back a few dark hairs obscuring his view. Meanwhile, Dimitri just stood there with his lips in an upwards curved line…

“I’m happy that you care,” Dimitri finally spoke, his voice as soft as the summer breeze.

“Ugh… I’m glad you’re safe,” muttered Felix, sighing in defeat.

He was glad that Dimitri had answered Claude’s request for help instead of rushing to Arianhrod to kill Edelgard. Still, the lords of Leicester—and also Ferdinand and Petra—had collectively sworn themselves to Dimitri on the condition that he led them to victory in the war and removed Edelgard from power. Could he truly trust Dimitri to not seek revenge? Could Felix believe that his prince was doing this for a good cause and not for personal vengeance?

“Um…” Dimitri tucked some stray hairs behind his ear. The front of his hair was tied back behind his head, although he’d left part of his fringe in front of the eyepatch. It was a sloppy hairdo, but Dimitri looked young—lively—without his hair obscuring his face.

“You almost look presentable,” said Felix. He meant it as praise, but it sounded derisive. “I mean—” Felix couldn’t find the words and gestured dumbly towards Dimitri’s face.

“Oh! Do you like it?” asked Dimitri. His mouth was a hopeful, fraught, little smile; his pale blue eye shimmered; and his cheeks were a light pink shade. He looked _ridiculous_. “Dedue helped me with it. He says I look more approachable with my face unobscured.”

“He’s not wrong,” grumbled Felix, averting his eyes sideways as he spoke. His gaze landed on the table in the middle of Dimitri’s tent where a battle map lay spread out, and on top of it was a large, heavy-looking bow—Wait, was that—?

“Is that Failnaught?” asked Felix, pointing his nose towards what was _definitely_ House Reigan’s Hero’s Relic. “Where did you get that?”

“Hm?” murmured Dimitri. He then spun around and looked at the bow. “Oh, yes. Claude gave it to me.”

“He _what_?”

Dimitri pursed his lips and pulled out a lone stool from under his table, offering it to Felix with a welcoming gesture.

“Fine,” said Felix. He sat down at the table, turning around to face Dimitri, who opened a wooden crate at the head of his small bed. He rummaged around the box, withdrawing two wooden cups and an unopened flask of red wine with a blue ribbon wrapped around its neck—clearly, it was a gift.

“No thanks,” said Felix flatly, before Dimitri could make the offer. “I prefer to keep a clear mind.”

“Oh…” Dimitri sounded a bit disappointed, but he put away his liquor and closed the lid of his crate, putting his nightlight—an old steel lantern—back on top. He seated on the side of his small bed and laced his fingers together above his lap. “How do I begin…” he then whispered for himself, but then finally started talking.

He explained to Felix things that he already knew: that the Leicester Alliance had dissolved itself in the Roundtable Conference; after over three hundred years, the lords of Leicester rejoined the Kingdom on their own volition. The lords of Leicester had pledged fealty to him, expecting their combined forces to be able to end Edelgard’s war and restore peace to the realm. Then, Dimitri finally told Felix that Claude had given him his relic bow before departing to lands faraway, leaving Dimitri with all of House Riegan’s property and land.

Felix scoffed at the idea as an action of cowardice.

“So he just flew off into the sunset and left _you_ to clean up _his_ mess?” he said, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest.

“He will be back,” said Dimitri. “He swore to return if I pass without heirs.”

“ _What?_ ” Felix stood up and upbraided his arms. He stared Dimitri down with an alarmed look; he did not like where the conversation was heading—at all.

“We discussed it at the Roundtable.” Dimitri spoke calmly, although his pale blue eye dodged Felix’s intense gaze and looked down towards his feet. “House Riegan is a cadet-branch of House Blaiddyd. Should I pass without heirs, Claude will—very reluctantly—accept the crown. If he is still alive, that is. Otherwise the crown will pass to his children; if he has any.”

Felix sighed out in relief and sat back down on the stool.

“ _That’s_ what took you so long?—Claude not wanting to be king?” he said. For a moment, Felix thought the Boar wanted to throw his life away in a death battle against Edelgard.

“Claude divulged his paternal bloodline at the Roundtable,” explained Dimitri. “He fears that a half-Almyran ascending the throne of Faerghus will incite another civil war. I can say with most certainty—judging from the looks of the other Lords of the Roundtable when he revealed his linage—that his worry isn’t unfounded.”

Felix felt a pang in his heart at the thought of another civil war, but he didn’t want to think of something that was so distant in the future. Dimitri wasn’t even crowned king yet!

“So, what brought you here?” asked Dimitri, then, wringing his hands in anticipation and smiling gently towards Felix with a fond look in his eye.

Felix groaned and shook his head.

“Gilbert fed my cousin misinformation. He said you went to fight Edelgard in Leicester and I—” He paused and then finally said it: “I’m sorry I doubted you.” The words scraped his throat, but a weight lifted from his chest once he’d said them. And the way Dimtri’s lips parted slightly in surprise and then closed in a tender smile filled Felix’s heart with warmth.

“I don’t blame your judgement, Felix,” said Dimitri. “Truly. I don’t even trust myself when it comes to facing Edelgard again.” He stood up and paced over to his table, absently resting a hand on the wood and looking down at the battlemap. Avoiding Felix’s look, he closed a fist over the left side of his chest. “I _still_ feel hatred…”

“No one’s asking you to forgive her,” said Felix. He clenched his fists above his knees. He wanted to do better; he’d promised himself to do better. “If you _do_ kill her,” said Felix carefully, “do it for the living—not for the dead. That’s all I ask.”

“Felix…” said Dimitri, speaking Felix’s name like a hopeful prayer.

“Do you eat and drink enough?” asked Felix. “Do you get enough sleep?” he said, looking at Dimitri’s nightlight and—there was a glass jar filled with pills behind his lantern. “What’s inside that jar?”

“Medicine,” said Dimitri with a sad smile. “To help me sleep,” he clarified. “When I was imprisoned on Caerwyn Isle, they used that to keep me… pacified.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at his prince—he still had nightmares, then.

“I… I still hear them. It becomes too difficult sometimes…” Dimitri voluntarily admitted his weakness. “I can’t ever be the king I was meant to be, Felix. But I want to do better; to _be_ better. For my people. For the realm.” He paused and looked at Felix. “And for you.”

* * *

They received Margrave Gautier’s report at the end of Blue Sea Moon. The Siege of Arianhrod took almost two months but was ultimately successful. Ashe and some local do-gooder hero rallied the people against House Rowe in the middle of the siege and hastened its fall, while Ingrid and Sylvain intercepted Hubert’s reinforcements and took all of their supplies. However, when the city finally surrendered and the traitors of House Rowe had been rounded up, they learnt that Edelgard had secretly escaped the stronghold and retreated to Enbarr.

Meanwhile, Felix stayed with Dimitri as promised and marched on Fort Merceus with him. The Emperor and her allies were desperate—there were demonic beasts within the stronghold and the people lived in terror, fearing the day they would be dragged out of their homes to fuel the Death Knight’s bloodlust or to be turned into monsters! Upon hearing about the horrors being committed inside the city, Dimitri and the Professor decided to assault the gate.

Jacques attacked the north gate with the Wild Swans, shooting down as many archers at the gatehouse as possible while Seteth and the Seiros Fliers attacked the walls. Felix was at Dimitri’s side when they approached the gate with the infantry in tortoise formation. They didn’t have any siege equipment assembled—but they didn’t need any as long as Dimitri and Felix worked together as a pair.

Felix was the first to step out of the formation with his Aegis Shield brandished high, protecting Dimitri from projectiles, boiling liquid and heated sand. They had to attack swiftly, Felix remembered the Professor’s words; they had to break down the gate before the enemy could mobilize their defences inside the fort!

“Boar, _hurry up!_ ” he shouted to Dimitri.

The gate came crashing down when the boar prince summoned his Crest magic and swung Areadbhar twice. And on the Professor’s signal, the Knights of Seiros charged into the Fortress City with the Kingdom army following behind.

It was a short battle; the Adrestians were demoralized and terrified—but there was bloodshed nonetheless whenever the two sides clashed. Count Bergliez fell in battle and once the Death Knight was announced dead, the city surrendered.

Dimitri’s request for Felix to stay at his side as an advisor after the war weighed heavy on Felix’s heart after the battle at Merceus. His beloved friend didn’t lie when he said that the face of the bloodthirsty animal and the face of the kind-hearted man were both his real face. The Boar was not gone; the Boar was _a part_ of Dimitri—was a part of the man that was Felix’s dearest, most precious friend.

For most people, Dimitri’s request was an easy one: Do you want to be the king’s advisor? Yes or no? But the moment Dimitri asked Felix to stay with him, Felix was faced with a question he _still_ didn’t have an answer to: Was Felix Fraldarius brave and strong enough to accept and love the Boar as he loved the Prince?

They left some troops at a garrison in Merceus and then advanced on Enbarr. Sylvain’s father arrived from the west with the army from Faerghus and joined up with Dimitri’s Leicester troops on the fields north of the Imperial capital.

Outnumbered and with most of her resources cut off, Edelgard hid behind the walls of Enbarr. Spies reported that she didn’t even evacuate the civilians and had already begun making more demonic beasts to fight for her since she had no more allies! Everyone was horrified with what Edelgard had resorted to in her desperation to hold onto power; this was no different from Cornelia’s last stand in Fhirdiad! Yet, Dimitri wished to believe that his stepsister wasn’t beyond redemption, despite most of his allies calling for her blood; the Saviour King’s hands were bloodstained too, and he wished to extend his hand towards the Emperor as others had extended their hands to him.

People called Dimitri crazy for wishing to parley with the Emperor. They said he was mad to agree on her terms for negotiation: He would first withdraw his army. Then, they would meet on the plains and talk, only bringing one companion each.

Felix watched Dimitri and the Professor wander out to meet Edelgard and Hubert; the entire army watched from afar as the four met in the middle of the plains. Hubert von Vestra was no match for the Professor, and Felix had never doubted Dimitri’s ability to take on Edelgard before. Yet, now when Dimitri no longer took orders from the dead, Felix worried that his prince might become so overwhelmed with emotion that he’d be unable to strike his stepsister down should the need arise.

If Dimitri and the Emperor could settle it diplomatically, that would be the best way out of this mess. No more bloodshed and no more death. However, Felix knew beforehand that this attempt of a negotiation was destined to fail. Edelgard had thrown the entire continent into a five year long war; she’d brought destruction and insurmountable suffering on Fódlan and only the Goddess knew how many deaths she’d caused with her selfish ambitions. Now when her past victims finally had her by the throat, anything _less_ than _unconditional surrender_ was off the table.

Yet, the Prince dared to hope.


	21. Chapter 21

_Sword and shield!_

_On Tailtean Plains!_

* * *

 **T** he weather was bleak. Grey clouds filled the skies. The thunder rumbled as prelude to oncoming rain. Pan pulled up the hood of his feather cloak as the first raindrops splashed on his head.

Faerghus had valiantly resisted the Emperor Dietfried’s attempt to cross Faolain River, but in the end they failed and scorched the earth while retreating. Now the Imperial army encroached House Blaiddyd’s territory, nearing the Plains of Tailtean; only a short distance away from Fhirdiad, the city which Pan and his family called home.

Albrecht von Vestra had approached Pan with a deal, offering to work together to end the war by peaceful means. The emperor wanted to stop fighting, he said. Everyone was tired of the war, the marquis wrote in his request. And the chilling wind and rain was no comfort for what was about to come—the war of attrition in winter, and the battles that yet had to be fought.

“Think of the people,” Lord Albrecht wrote, “I’ll await your answer at the Tailtean Plains. I will only bring my personal guards.”

And so Pan rode out to speak with Emperor Dietfried’s tactician, bringing with him only a handful of knights—and Kyphon, who’d insisted to tag along. If they could settle it diplomatically, that would be the best way out of this mess. No more bloodshed and no more death.

He could see Lord Albrecht astride his horse with a few guards ahead of a group of tall birches in the middle of the fields. Pan had kept him waiting for longer than intended—all because Kyphon wanted to argue over the marquis’s intent.

“See?” said Pan, gesturing towards the Adrestians. “They’re just five. It’s not a fight.”

Kyphon, who rode beside him, snorted in contempt.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, Shrimp,” he said. “I don’t trust that knave Dietfried, and I trust his minions _less_. You don’t think there’s _anything_ fishy about him wanting to meet you alone like this?”

“If his ultimate goal is to sway me from Loog’s side, he’ll be very disappointed,” said Pan.

Kyphon slammed an open hand against his forehead and groaned.

“Albrecht von Vestra _knows_ you’re Loog’s lover!” he said, exasperated. “Loog would do anything for you, Shrimp!”

Pan ignored him. He could see Lord Albrecht and his knights dismount to meet him, and he got off his horse, too, to return the courtesy. The thunder roared and the rain began, drops of water splattering on the dead birch leaves that covered the field. As they approached the emperor’s men on foot, Kyphon draped his left arm across Pan’s back and rested his broad hand on his narrow shoulder—protective and controlling all the same.

“Stay close,” he told Pan, emerald eyes flashing and his right hand hovering at the hilt of his Singing Sword.

Lord Albrecht leant towards his guards, whispering something to his vassals. The Imperial knights eyed at Kyphon and nodded silently in acknowledgement, but they didn’t make any alarming moves.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” whispered Pan in annoyance. “Stop glaring. You look sus—!”

He gasped when a circle of magic suddenly shone on the ground. Red glyphs of light burst from the patch of dead leaves under his feet, encircling and snapping around his torso and silencing his magic. The ring of magic glowed bright and burnt away the layer of leaves, revealing a prepared enchantment that easily spanned across thirty feet in all directions!

“You _dastards!_ ” shouted Kyphon. He pulled Pan into his arms and quickly rolled down to the ground, covering the mage’s smaller body with his towering frame.

“Kyphon!” gasped Pan. His eyes grew tall as a barrage of lightning came down with the rain. “ _Kyphon!_ ” he yelled as the spell blinded his eyes.

He heard the four knights who’d accompanied them out on the mission scream in agony; he heard Kyphon shout curses to the air. And then, there was only the sound of the falling rain that washed over Pan’s face as his vision slowly began returning.

“Kyphon…” Pan whispered, staring blankly up to the cloudy sky as he prayed to the Goddess and all the Saints above. “K-Kyphon, _please_ …” His hands moved on their own and reached around Kyphon’s back, feeling the heat of the Aegis Shield that had absorbed partial or most of the spell.

And then finally the knight moved, slowly propping himself up on his elbows and hands above the mage’s head. His long raven locks were singed and his face was distorted in pain. Kyphon growled in wild fury and then stood up. His Singing Sword burst from its scabbard with radiant green light, its song overpowering the sound of the rain!

“Albrecht von Vestra, prepare to _die!_ ” shouted Kyphon. “ _I’ll kill you!_ ” he roared at the top of his lungs. “ _You and your vile master—!_ ”

Kyphon didn’t see the spells that Albrecht and his knights wielded; he didn’t care. With winds of magic carrying his feet, Kyphon sprinted towards the marquis and his guards. Blinded by fury, he charged straight into their line of fire with his Aegis Shield and Singing Sword and eyes flashing with killing intent.

* * *

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_One life for another_

_Loog, you must be…_

_Stronger than all others_

_Stronger than me_

* * *

Pan’s host crashed into the right flank of the Imperial army, shredding the Emperor’s troops with weapons sharp like razors and raining fire and lightning on the battlefield.

Pan fought as if he was _possessed_ , cutting down everyone in his way while he sought Dietfried von Hresvelg out with the Singing Sword. He was _unstoppable_ ; even when the Imperial knights knocked him off his horse and into the mud, he rose again and smote his enemies with blazing light and lightning. His steps never slowed, leaving a path of ashes and bones in his wake as he fought his way to the Emperor!

He’d lost his helmet and thrown away his shield by the time he cut down the last of the Emperor’s personal guard. When he reached Dietfried von Hresvelg his armour and drapes were covered with blood. His soft brown hair was streaked white and soaked with sweat, and his face was stained with tears. And his eyes, they burned bright like the infernal flames themselves…

The Emperor was no match for him. Pan silenced Dietfried’s magic and sliced his sword hand off before he could cast a single spell. He didn’t hear his king command him to stop; he didn’t hear his lover telling him no.

“FOR THE REALM!” roared Pan as he plunged the Singing Sword deep into Dietfried’s chest, piercing his heavy armour as if it was a mere leaf. “ _For my king!_ ” he shouted, his sword still glowing with magic as he twisted the blade. “For my brother,” he hissed icily, launching a kick below the wound and knocking Dietfried into the dirt. “Erwann… Brother…”

“ _Pan!_ ” cried Loog. He threw his weapon as his beloved collapsed on the ground like a marionette with its strings severed—the enchanted blade still singing its warsong as Loog pried it out of Pan’s hand and tossed it away.

“ _Enough_ already!” said Loog, tucking his lover away in his arms. “He’s _dead_!” Loog cried. “They’re all _dead_ , Pan! You’ve killed them all!” The battle was over. The entire Imperial army was annihilated. And yet, Emperor Dietfried’s death wasn’t enough to quench the fires of hate that tormented Pan’s soul.

“Erwann…” Pan wept as he trembled in Loog’s tight embrace, the dark pupils in his amber eyes darting back and forth in confusion and fear. “Brother… Wh-why? I-I’ve killed him… I’ve killed the Emperor… S-so why? Why are you still here, Erwann?”

* * *

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_Dearest little brother_

_Pan, you must be…_

_…stronger than all others_

_Stronger than me_

* * *

They say Kyphon’s spirit returned to the battlefield when he heard Loog was losing the fight. They say he borrowed Pan’s body to exact revenge.

With divine lightning, he smote his enemies; with his Singing Sword, he repelled the Imperial army and slew the emperor on the plains!

And with Dietfried von Hresvelg dead on the field, Prince Fritz sued for peace.

So the War of the Eagle and the Lion came to an end. So, Faerghus won its independence with blood, sweat, and tears.

Barely a week after the war, the head of the Church of Seiros came to Fhirdiad and crowned Loog King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. His first act as sovereign was to elevate Agnea von Fraldarius to the rank of Duchess and name her husband—Kyphon Pan Fraldarius—Chancellor, making him the highest ranking executive official in the realm.


	22. Chapter 22

_On the fields of Enbarr, Emperor Edelgard refused the peace deal and challenged Prince Dimitri and his allies to take the Imperial capital. Defiant to the very end, the Flame Emperor unleashed the remainder of her army and a horde of demonic beasts in the capital when the gates were breached; but ultimately, the Kingdom and the Church prevailed._

_It is unclear what happened to Edelgard von Hresvelg when the Imperial Palace was seized. Some say the emperor tapped into forbidden magic in a desperate attempt to hold onto power, but that the foul demon she summoned killed her and was then struck down by Prince Dimitri’s allies. Some say the emperor feigned compliance when Prince Dimitri extended towards her his hand and attacked him with a hidden dagger, forcing him to end her life. Others say it was the leader of the Church of Seiros who severed her head with the Sword of the Creator when she refused to repent for her sins._

_Regardless, Prince Dimitri forbade desecration of the Emperor Edelgard’s body, despite having famously demanded her head on a spike several times. He had it cremated, and his closest friends would recount how he sorrowfully scattered her ashes in the Southern Sea._

* * *

 **O** n the last day of Horsebow Moon 1186, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was crowned the fourteenth sovereign of Faerghus on Loog’s Square—in full view of the people of Fhirdiad instead of inside the castle, where only his closest vassals could see the ceremony.

Felix was there when Dimitri knelt on the granite setts in the chilly autumn noon as the Professor—no, the new Archbishop—placed a silver band engraved with oak leaves upon his head—a humble crown for a humble king. Dimitri already had decided to break up the old crown jewels and liquefy the rest of the treasures in his castle. The new king dressed in charcoal wool and undyed linen, and although his azure cloak was lined with fur, it was fastened with a cheap iron broche. A black patch still covered his missing eye and he still wore his almost shoulder-length hair up in a sloppy ponytail, despite Felix telling him to get a proper haircut for the ceremony. Yet, when the sun shone so brightly upon Dimitri’s head, even Felix couldn’t say the King looked bad.

As the ceremony proceeded, a blue plush carpet was rolled out at Dimitri’s feet. And Felix approached, stepping towards his king. His cloak was spruce green just like his late father’s, but he’d chosen a teal coat with white trimmings instead of a dark funeral garb. His hair was combed and carefully tied back to conceal his physical imperfections, and at his hip hung a single Zoltan blade.

Under the shining sun, Felix Fraldarius knelt at the feet of his king and pledged fealty to the Crown for all to see. Once, Felix had anticipated this moment; other times, he’d dreaded this event. Yet, it all felt natural to him when he finally spoke the oath he already knew by heart. Dimitri extended towards him his right hand afterwards; white-gloved and decorated with a lone signet ring.

Dimitri’s hand, which had claimed countless lives and possessed the monstrous strength to crush a skull as if it was an egg; Felix took it and dutifully lifted it towards his mouth, but he stopped halfway and exhaled a deep breath to the wind. Voices around him whispered and the crowd gasped as he took off the King’s ring. Dimitri’s fingers curled slightly and he almost retracted his hand in alarm when Felix removed the glove.

Dimitri’s hand; it didn’t look like the claw of a monster when it lay bare before him. Felix squeezed it gently and rubbed the knuckles with his thumb; it was coarse with calluses from wielding a weapon and scarred from war, but Felix could still find places that were soft and where the skin was unmarred.

Felix slowly lifted his head to look into the eye of his dearest, most precious friend. He smiled a smile he thought he’d long forgotten, and his fiery eyes never left Dimitri’s pale blue one as he lifted the King’s exposed hand towards his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on the old scar on the back of the hand.

Dimitri’s eye widened and he inhaled a deep breath through his nose. He stared in shock as Felix carefully put the glove and ring back on his trembling hand. His lips quivered and his eye shimmered with tears as Felix remained on his knees, waiting for his king to tell him to rise.

* * *

_They say the Saviour King disappeared during the evening celebrations. They say he left the ball and didn’t return to the castle that night…_

_Come tomorrow, he reappeared in Duke Fraldarius’s residence in Fhirdiad, where he was found wrapped in the embrace of his beloved prince who’d returned from war at last._

* * *

Felix remembered the evening of Dimitri’s coronation day. He remembered being seated next to Ingrid at the banquet table and watching how Dimitri mingled with his peers and vassals. He vividly remembered how Dimitri’s face had suddenly blanched in the middle of a pointless conversation about the castle’s old tapestries. The King turned his head towards Felix with an anxious look. Then, he donned an artificial smile and excused himself from the nobles. The King invited the Archbishop to dance and his lips moved as they waltzed across the floor. Felix couldn’t hear what they said, but Dimitri left the party after the dance, exchanging a few words with Dedue before heading out of the great hall. When Felix then asked the Archbishop about the King, they informed him that Dimitri needed some time for himself and had gone out to get fresh air—he’d been entertaining people the entire day, so of course he was tired.

Tired? Felix wanted to believe it was that simple, but that frightened look he saw on Dimitri’s face told different tale.

The sun had vanished when he went out to the courtyard to look for his king. The twilight was fading when Felix found Dimitri hiding behind the well at the stables, sitting on the ground with his cheap crown at his feet and his hands in his hair. It was dark when he pulled the boar king up from the ground and led him out of the castle; it was night when he took Dimitri to a quiet place in the oldest parts of Fhirdiad where they could rest undisturbed.

And so, Felix ended up in the old house his family frequently used when they visited the capital—the house that House Fraldarius acquired when Felix’s forgotten ancestor came to serve King Loog as his right hand man after the war.

So Felix Fraldarius ended up in the master’s bedroom and on the bed, basking in the sunlight and cradling his beloved king in his arms…

Felix turned his face towards the window, looking past the nightstand were Dimitri’s eye-patch lay and where the King’s silver crown gleamed in the morning sun. White clouds drifted and birds sailed across a vast blue sky. He could hear the neighbours get ready for their morning routines outside. His arms encircled the head of the beautiful man who slept on top of him and his hands were in Dimitri’s soft blond hair.

The King was heavy; much heavier than the young prince he used to be, and much heavier than Felix himself. Yet, Dimitri still knew—still remembered—how to not cause Felix discomfort while sleeping in each other’s arms. He rested face down under the duvet and in-between Felix’s thighs, his head on Felix’s stomach and his hands curled around the sheets at his sides. There was a damp spot on the duke’s shirt where the King had been drooling, but Felix didn’t mind so much. He combed through Dimitri’s hair with gentle hands, admiring how the soft blond locks fell from the twin whorls on top of his head.

The King eventually stirred, murmuring something under his breath while waking up. Felix chuckled as Dimitri brushed his face against his middle, letting out a pleased sigh. But then the King suddenly gasped and propped himself up on his forearms, meeting the duke’s eyes with a shocked expression and his face reddening with shame.

“Felix—!” exclaimed Dimitri, but Felix reassured him before his fear could take root.

“What?” he said, his voice soft as he put his left hand on Dimitri’s right cheek.

Dimitri averted his gaze and quietly lowered his head to Felix’s chest, listening to the duke’s slow heartbeat as the people on the street outside got to work. Felix said nothing and quietly waited, one comforting hand holding Dimitri’s shoulder and the other hand playing with his hair.

“I… I _still_ hear them…” said Dimitri, finally. “The dead… I still _see_ them.”

Felix looked towards the window where his torn coat hung on the back of a chair.

“I know that,” he then unflinchingly said. “You told me that last night.”

“Are you sure you still want—?”

“Hmph. I won’t go back on my word just because you still have battles against your demons to win.”

“But… you were _afraid_ —”

“We’re all afraid of the things we don’t understand, Dimitri,” said Felix. “I wasn’t scared _of_ you last night—I was afraid of _losing_ you again.” He paused, but he didn’t stop raking his fingers through Dimitri’s hair. “I’ve meant to ask this for a while now,” he then continued. “The ghosts and the voices, what do they actually say to you? How do they look? Do I really sound like my brother when I’m… cruel? I want to know, Dimitri; I want to know everything about you and what happened to you in those years we lost.”

Dimitri remained silent and clutched the bedsheet for a while.

“Forgive me, Felix,” he then whispered, ashamed. “I’m… I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

Felix sighed, but he didn’t pursue the matter. He continued to comb through Dimitri’s hair with loving hands.

“That’s fine,” he said calmly. “Take your time—I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll tell you something else,” said Dimitri.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t want to cut my hair because you always were so fond of it. I’ve always hoped…”

Dimitri’s voice trailed off into silence and Felix snorted, rasping out a laugh that might have sounded snide.

“Shut up,” Felix whispered indignantly, finally getting his hands out of the King’s hair and resting them on his broad shoulders.

And Dimitri chuckled, his warm face still hidden in Felix’s chest for a little longer. Then, he propped himself up on his elbows and moved further up on the bed until his face was on the same level with Felix’s.

“Felix…” said Dimitri, his voice full of affection, “my beloved Felix.”

Felix shivered. A year ago, he would’ve shrivelled in fear, but now that large looming body above him filled him with anticipation. As Dimitri leant down, Felix raised his head and met his lips halfway in a kiss, sliding his arms around Dimitri’s neck and pulling him down into the bed.

* * *

_His name was Felix Fraldarius, born to be a knight but was raised a prince. He was Duke Felix Fraldarius—the king’s lifelong love and his dearest, most precious friend._

_They called him the Swan Prince, who always returned on wings of hope. He was the Swan Prince—a truehearted love!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading to the end. Yes, this is the real end of this story. We’re going into post game in part 5, so if you’re dropping the series for that reason I hope that this was at least an enough satisfying ending.
> 
> This series has sort of taken a completely different turn from what I’ve originally planned. It’s gotten to the point where the main characters’ final fates have changed, but I guess that’s good if you didn’t want to read about Dimitri dying young, ill and miserable, or Felix blaming himself for failing to save him.


End file.
